A Heart's Quiet Courage
by Evereven
Summary: Ten years after Elladan and Elrohir rescue her from Orcs, a series of events turns Jeren's life upside down.  Three years after "Follow Your Heart".  Somewhat AU since I have introduced OCs, but I try to stay true to the books as much as possible.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

"The Chieftain wants to see you."

Jeren lifted her eyes over the rim of her teacup as she listened to the message delivered by the ranger standing across the table from her. She'd only just gotten back to the settlement last night and needed more rest. She knew she should have stayed in her loft room above the stable this morning, but hunger had driven her to the dining hall to break her fast instead.

She'd not even thought that Aragorn would be here. The last she heard he was headed to Bree on some mission for Gandalf. _His departure must have been delayed for some reason._

She heaved a big sigh, not wanting to move.

"Now!" the ranger insisted. "It is unwise to keep him waiting."

She slowly got up, leaving her plate of breakfast and much needed cup of tea on the table, meaning to return to them as soon as she'd determined what the exalted Lord Chieftain required of her. She made her way to Aragorn's alcove, where he kept his desk and where he usually conducted whatever business he meant to conduct. But he was not there, although she did find Halbarad nearby. Not one of her favorite people anyway—nor she his—he put the frown she expected in place as soon as his eyes met hers.

"I am looking for Lord Aragorn," she said, neither amiably, nor with the sarcasm she so dearly wanted to use.

"Infirmary," was his terse reply, delivered as unpleasantly as he could possibly make it.

Always wanting to take the high road when she dealt with Halbarad, she thanked him, even though it galled her to do so. She loved Rhyse, but his parents—especially his father—she could do without.

As she made her way to the infirmary, she thought about Rhyse and how he'd finally insinuated himself into her heart. It had been three years since she'd been recruited into the Dúnedain rangers, and likewise, since Rhyse had declared his love for her. She was glad that he had been patient, waiting until she was ready to give him a chance—the reward for that had been sweet indeed, for both of them.

Just as she thought she would never get Elladan out of her heart, she was astounded one day to realize that Rhyse had overtaken that spot from the Elf Jeren thought she would always love above anyone else. But that was definitely so no longer. She loved Rhyse and did not think she would love anyone else as long as she lived.

But they had not gotten around to marriage yet. They were together in all ways that mattered, except that she'd kept her room in the loft and he'd kept his bunk in the barracks, when he wasn't sharing her bed, that is.

They made no secret of their love, nor did they flaunt it, and so far, news of their arrangement was not common knowledge in the little settlement. The village seemed to be made up of mouths and ears—tongues that flapped and listeners that heard half-truths and downright lies. They'd been sharing a bed now and then for over a year, and the fact that it was still secret said much for Jeren and Rhyse's discretion. Halbarad and his wife Firiel did not truly know how their son spent many of his evenings, but neither were they stupid. So whenever Jeren chanced to meet either of them, they made no secret concerning how they felt about her.

It mattered not to Jeren, though. She was content for the first time in her life.

Jeren opened the door to the infirmary, which was housed just off the rangers' barracks. It was one large ward with several beds in two rows, against opposite walls. The Warden was perched on a stool in front of his herb cabinet, and he nodded to her as she passed. Jeren then saw Aragorn at the far end of the room sitting in a chair, just visible where a curtain had been drawn around a single bed. Her footsteps rang on the wooden floor, and Aragorn glanced up, got to his feet, and then met her in the middle of the room. He pointed the way back toward the door, and she silently preceded him out again.

As soon as the door closed, he said, "Walk with me."

They headed in the general direction of the main hall. Jeren assumed they were going to the alcove, where Aragorn would probably bless her out for some minor infraction she'd committed, no doubt reported by her captain, Joem. It was funny, she no longer thought of him as "The Mouth", even though his predilection for spreading gossip had not completely abated. Unbelievable though it may seem, Jeren and Joem were now friends, especially after she passed the trials she had to endure to become a full-fledged ranger of the Dúnedain and part of his patrol.

No one else was in the hall, which turned out to be a good thing, considering the subject they were about to discuss.

"Brid's patrol brought in a young woman day before yesterday," he said, fixing her with a penetrating stare. "I was sitting with her in the infirmary when you found me just now." He took his pipe from his belt, along with some pipeweed, filled the bowl, and then lit it, taking a long pull. He let the smoke escape from between his barely parted lips before he continued.

"She was rescued from Orcs. They'd raided the homestead she shared with her parents and one brother. She was the only survivor. Brid and his men came upon the raid as it was in progress, but not before a few of the Orcs had had their way with her." He paused, obviously gauging what Jeren's reaction might be.

She continued looking at him, but the response on her face was not what Aragorn expected. He thought she might seem embarrassed or apprehensive about this subject, but instead, her face was gradually brightening, and a smile slowly bloomed on her lips.

"A survivor…" Jeren said triumphantly, as her smile grew.

"Her name is Haleth, but that is all the information she has given," Aragorn continued. "She won't let anyone near her, so far, but I think her hurts are minor—at least those that are physical. She has said nothing, other than to repeat her name. I suspect she is at the most eighteen years, although she will not give her age, or what her father's name was.

"I am unsure whether her mind has been damaged, or if she is just self-conscious, or perhaps in some sort of passing shock brought on by the death of her family. I've had your Aunt Elen in the infirmary trying to tend to her, but Haleth will not speak to her either, nor answer her when she asks if she needs some sort of poultice for—"

Aragorn did not finish his sentence, and while he did not seem embarrassed to be speaking of such delicate things, he did seem wary concerning what Jeren might think about him making reference to this subject. She certainly knew what he meant, and showed no outward reaction to his words.

"I was hoping that she would be more apt to talk to you, since you are also a woman and more of her age. Perhaps if you told her of your experience, she might feel more at ease. I would like to know if she has some family somewhere, so that we might find some of her people."

Jeren was elated that someone else had lived to tell of surviving an Orc raid, even though, as she knew from her own past, the telling of it would not be an easy thing.

"Of course I would talk to her. May I go now?" she asked as she rose; her eagerness to be about the task was apparent. She had completely forgotten her breakfast, which would no doubt punish her later, when she grew so famished she would not be able to ignore her stomach's protesting any longer.

Aragorn raised his brows and smiled crookedly, as if unsure about Jeren's instant enthusiasm for the task he was giving her.

He chuckled slightly as he looked to a document lying on his desk. "Go," he said with a wave toward the door. But he looked up again, and seemed to add as an afterthought, "And do not forget; next time you have the occasion to disobey your captain's orders—just because you know a more efficient way to accomplish whatever it is he wants to accomplish—do not." He smiled as he shook his head slightly. "We have been over this rule many times, Jeren, and what do I hear this morning from Joem? 'Chieftain—I know not what to do with her.' When will you learn?"

"Perhaps if you make me a captain, I will not ever have to learn it," she quipped, as she stepped away.

Jeren heard Aragorn's quiet laughter as she left the room.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Well met, Haleth," Jeren said to the girl staring vacantly at nothing from the infirmary bed. There was no response from the young woman, who appeared as if her mind no longer lurked behind her empty eyes. Minutes ticked by, with no reaction from Haleth, but Jeren was not deterred.

She pulled the chair that Aragorn had vacated earlier up closer to the girl's bed, so that she might speak and the entire room did not have to hear. She looked at Haleth, pale and shaking in the bed. Yes, she appeared afraid and ashamed, but her right cheekbone bore the only visible bruise on her. This puzzled Jeren, since _she'd_ been beaten very badly in her private battle with Orcs.

"I, too, have been beset by Orcs, Haleth," she said quietly. "I lived, and I am a rarity, but they beat me near to death. How was it you were not hurt more badly?"

The girl's eyes, blank at first, gradually took on more life as Jeren spoke. Haleth was looking right at Jeren by the time Jeren was finished speaking.

Haleth started to reply, but her words seemed to stick in her throat, dry and raspy. She began coughing with the scratch of her unused voice, and Jeren helped her drink some water from a glass left full on the table beside the bed. When she could finally speak, Haleth said, "You think I am not hurt badly? I _beg_ to differ…"

"Forgive me, Haleth," Jeren said, abashed at her own insensitivity. She had never been the feminine sort, so delicacy was not second nature to her. "I did not mean that you were not hurt. I know—more so that you might think—exactly how you feel. The shame is overwhelming."

Haleth had gone back to staring into space, not even looking at Jeren any more. So Jeren decided to get Haleth's attention again.

"I know how it feels to spy them on your land—in your house. I know what it is to run from them and have them catch you, despite your best effort; how it is to fight them until you have no fight left, and then you have no choice but to stay still and let them they do what they will to you. I _know_…"

Tears began trickling from Haleth's eyes the longer Jeren spoke. Jeren spied a small cloth on the table beside the bed and picked it up, pressing it into Haleth's hand.

"I am sorry," Jeren said. "I seem to be making this worse, and that is not my intent. I only want you to know that I admire your courage! You fought them and you won, just like I did. That is something of which to be proud! You have no shame in this. None!"

"I have naught of which to be proud," Haleth said, her eyes suddenly jerking to Jeren's once again. Her tone was of such self-loathing that Jeren truly knew not what to say or do any more. The silence grew between them, even as Haleth continued to stare at Jeren, and then Haleth started speaking again.

"I did not fight," she finally said. "I was so afraid—they killed my mother before my eyes and all I could do was watch—I did not aid her. They came after me first, and my mother thought to save me from them. I could do nothing but scream as they killed her. I am alive and she is dead, and it is my fault!" Her voice had risen the longer she talked, and tears rained down her face. Jeren instinctively got up from her chair and sat on the edge of Haleth's bed. She grabbed the young woman by the shoulders, startling her at first, but then Jeren hugged Haleth to her, letting her cry until she could not cry any more.

As the girl's sobbing subsided, Jeren began talking to her in a soothing voice.

"The _Orcs_ killed your mother—you did not. It is not your fault—none of it. Orcs are brutal and strong, and there is nothing an unarmed woman can do against them. Nothing."

Jeren propped Haleth's pillows against the wall, helping the young woman to sit up in the bed.

Haleth mopped at her eyes with the cloth Jeren had given her. "After they'd stabbed my mother to death, they came after me again, and panic took my breath. I thought I was dying—I felt as it my heart stopped stock still. I must have fainted, and when I woke up, I was naked and I knew what they'd done—I knew—"

Haleth sobbed for a few minutes more, and Jeren found the girl's hand and held it fast. When she'd told Aragorn she would talk to Haleth, she had not thought it through. She knew it would be hard for Haleth to speak of it, but she had not considered how hard it would be for her to listen to the girl's story.

"When I woke up, the Orcs were gone, but there were five men standing there gawking at me." Haleth's tears rose once again, as she recalled the shame of the whole ordeal.

"Men have no sense, half the time," Jeren said, in agreement with Haleth. "But they brought you here—and here is exactly where you need to be right now. There are people to care for you and help you here." Jeren thought for a minute, wondering whether to commit Elrohir to a conversation with Haleth without asking him first, but she knew he would help if asked. "There is someone else I would like for you to meet—Elrohir. He is—"

"No!" Haleth exclaimed. "I'll talk to no more men."

"He is not a man," Jeren said gently. "He is an Elf, and he helped me get through this same thing years ago. I would not have survived if not for him."

"An Elf?" The look of trepidation on the girl's face made Jeren think that Haleth probably had never laid eyes on one of the firstborn, which was not all that unusual; Jeren had never met any Elves until Elrohir and Elladan had rescued her all those years ago. "I will consider it," Haleth said, although Jeren could tell by Haleth's expression and her tone that she meant it not at all.

"Alright," Jeren said, knowing she would have to talk long to persuade Haleth to speak with either of the twins. "I understood Lord Aragorn to say that you've allowed no one to help you. Orcs are nasty and dirty, and you really should at least be well cleansed. Do you feel up to a bath?"

Haleth darted a glance at Jeren, but her only answer was a simple nod.

"I can have Lord Marach—he's the Warden here—fetch the tub and find some men to fill it with hot water. We'll put the tub here—behind the curtain—you will be in complete privacy. I will make sure of it. And while you bathe, I will get Lord Marach to mix a poultice to apply to your—nether regions—that will kill any infection and ease the discomfort I know that you feel."

Haleth didn't say anything. She'd begun to look at nothing again. But Jeren knew what the girl saw with her eyes wide open, and she didn't envy her the sight at all.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren approached Lord Marach, beginning to speak before she'd completely reached him. "My lord, if you would please have someone bring the tub and set it up near Haleth's bed? She has agreed to bathe as long as her privacy is preserved. I will return in a few moments to help her. And please see that the men filling it neither watch her nor try and speak with her. She's very fragile right now, as you might expect."

"Bless you, Jeren," he said. "I've tried all I could think of to help her, but with no results. And so have Lord Aragorn and even Elen. But I think she just needed a woman closer to her age. Thank you for taking an interest in her, my lady."

Lord Marach was a very kind, older gentleman, and Jeren had always liked him. She believed that Haleth would feel the same way, eventually, but right now she feared almost anything male, as Jeren could completely understand.

"Also, if you mix a poultice for her, I will show her how to use it. I know she must need something—" Jeren tried to act as if discussing this with him did not embarrass her, but her face had gone hot, so she knew she was blushing.

But Lord Marach, being the man that he was, gave no indication that he'd noticed her unease. "I will see to it now," he said, and turned to go to the herb cabinet he used.

Jeren went back to Haleth's bed and was glad to note that the girl's eyes followed her as she approached. That was progress, Jeren supposed.

"Haleth, as you no doubt heard, a tub will be brought and filled. I will return before it is completely done, so do not fear that I have abandoned you, I only must find my captain and report to him for the day. I am sure he will allow me back here, since it was Lord Aragorn who requested I aid you, and he is the Chieftain here. Why don't you try to sleep for a little while? You must be exhausted."

Haleth nodded, and Jeren left, going first to find Elrohir. She understood that Haleth wanted to speak to no one else, but Jeren also knew that Elrohir could help the girl. _She just knew it._

She walked back to the main hall, where not only would she find Joem, but she would also find the room the twins shared. She had no idea if they were even at the settlement right now, but decided to take the chance and find out. Arriving at her destination some five short minutes later, she knocked on their door and heard a muffled, "Enter."

Elladan was sitting at the desk; Elrohir was standing by the window. The shutters that covered the opening had been thrown back, in order that some of the fresh spring air might lessen the stuffiness of the room.

"Jeren," Elladan said with a smile. "You're back."

"How good of you to notice, Elladan," Jeren said with a mocking smile on her lips.

But her happiness at seeing the twins was short-lived, as Jeren remembered the confusion she felt while around the sons of Elrond lately. They seemed to have switched personalities unexpectedly, and she could not figure out the how or why of it. Elladan's relaxed demeanor was easier to explain. He was much more comfortable with her since he'd become aware of her feelings for Rhyse, realizing that Jeren finally understood that what they might have had between them had been no more than wishful thinking on her part. Elrohir, on the other hand, had closed himself off from her. That was puzzling, and one day, when she had the time, she meant to speak to him about that.

"Have either of you heard of the young woman that Brid's patrol rescued from Orcs?"

"We actually rode with Brid's patrol, so not only have we heard, we were there at her rescue," Elladan said. "But she would speak to no one, and I do not think she has changed her mind yet."

"She has spoken to me and she is not doing well. Not only did the fiends—abuse her—she blames herself for her mother's death. When the Orcs overpowered her mother, Haleth froze with fear and did not aid her, so, to Haleth's mind, she allowed them to kill the woman. I've emphasized to her that the fault was the Orcs' alone and not hers, but I think she does not believe me. She is deep in misery and guilt."

"The Orcs had dragged the entire family outside," Elrohir put in. "There was also the father as well as a son, younger than the woman we rescued. From the looks of the scene, the parents were dispatched quickly, while the young ones were reserved for _play_." The tone of Elrohir's words left Jeren cold. She knew exactly what Orcs considered to be sporting.

"She told me that she fainted when the Orcs beset her, so she has no memory of the actual abuse they gave her. But she knows what they did to her, so I am sure the same thoughts that I had are chipping away at her mind—especially that no decent man will have her now, since she is no longer—"

Jeren let her sentence trail off. They all knew to what Jeren referred, and no one had the heart to come right out and say the word.

"And what would you have us do, Jeren?" Elrohir asked. "She will certainly not wish to speak to us about that."

"I would hope that one or both of you might visit her. Elrohir, I remember when I was despairing, and you told me the story of your mother—that might help."

"But if it is her mother that she despairs about, I see not how that story would aid her. It might just make her more despondent."

Jeren exhaled audibly. "I had not thought about that."

"I will go see her," Elrohir said. "It cannot hurt, I don't suppose. I will be able to judge exactly what might help, as soon as I speak with her some; that is if she will even allow me near."

"That is a small problem," Jeren admitted, her brows knit in thought. After a few moments' pause, she added, "She has refused to speak to anyone but me, so I will have to convince her."

Elladan smiled. "And that is a _small_ problem? As shaken and terrified as she was when she was brought here, it will be more like a mountain than a hill to climb."

"Well, I am up to the challenge," Jeren said, and did not sound boastful. If there was one thing that Jeren was, it was confident—about most everything.

Elladan laughed, resuming his work as Jeren left the room, but Elrohir's haunted eyes followed her out the door.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren helped Haleth rinse her hair after the girl had soaped it and scrubbed her scalp. Haleth had been shy about having Jeren behind the curtain with her while she bathed, but Jeren truly had given her no choice. Before entering the space, Jeren had pointedly asked Lord Marach, in a voice loud enough that she knew Haleth could hear, if he would please guard the curtain against any intrusion. She wanted to make sure Haleth felt as safe as she could possibly feel.

"Haleth, have you any grandparents or aunts or uncles the Chieftain might contact? He knows you would feel more at ease with your own people."

"I have an uncle who lives up in the northern part of The Angle, in a very small village on the Great East Road. I've not seen him since I was a little child, but as I recall, he was overly fond of ale. No, Jeren, there is no one left—only me."

Haleth's hair was finally rinsed to Jeren's satisfaction, so Jeren got up from her crouch beside the tub and fetched a towel for Haleth. Haleth twisted her hair several times, ridding it of as much water as she could. She rose from the tub, and it was then that Jeren saw the bruises and bites Haleth had suffered at the hands of the Orcs.

Haleth's eyes followed Jeren's, and she lifted her fingers to cautiously touch the skin on the side of one of her breasts, bruised and torn where an Orc's filthy teeth had left a ragged bite.

"I have a poultice for your hurts, Haleth," Jeren said, "so they do not become putrid."

"I wish they would become foul—so bad that the sepsis kills me," Haleth said, in a voice so full of hopelessness Jeren almost could not bear it. "I want not to live anymore." Jeren's heart went out to the girl, but she knew that Haleth already felt too sorry for herself. She would not add her pity on top of it—that would only drag the girl further down into her misery.

"How old are you, Haleth?"

"I was seventeen last month."

"Those thoughts are too old for someone so young as you." Jeren felt her attempts at speaking with the girl were falling on deaf ears, so she did not say more.

Jeren closed her eyes at the pain the girl's revelation of her tender age brought to her. She had supposed, as Aragorn had, that Haleth was older than this. Jeren didn't reckon it made much difference what the girl's age might be, but she remembered herself, being sixteen, and thinking her world was gone and her life was no longer worth living. It had been the twins who had made the difference for her. If only Haleth would let them speak to her—would take to heart the things they might say that could help.

Jeren picked up the bowl with the poultice Lord Marach had prepared, and held it out to Haleth.

"No, I won't use it."

Jeren said nothing; she just continued to hold the bowl toward the girl, refusing 'no' for an answer.

Haleth stared Jeren in the eyes for several long seconds, then took the bowl and dipped her fingers into it.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Later that evening, Jeren was in her loft with Rhyse. They both had their weapons spread out on the bed, since the room was so small. They cleaned and honed blades and arrows, making sure the arrows' shafts were whole and not cracked or weakened in any way. As they worked, they talked.

"I dearly love having Joem as our captain," Rhyse said as he polished the blade of his sword. "He has changed much since he was promoted—for the good. And to think he chose the two of us to be in his patrol. You could have knocked me down with a feather when that happened. And the most positive feature he has is that he is always forthcoming about everything he knows."

"That is truthfully said," Jeren agreed, laughing, as she ran a polishing cloth down the blade of her sword. One of the most important tests she'd had to master as a recruit of the Dúnedain rangers had been swordsmanship. Glorfindel had drilled her often and hard, but the sword had never been her weapon of choice, and she had let her skills decline over time, using her longknife instead. It was her longknife first and foremost, that she chose when she fought, and then the bow. But the rangers—especially their Chieftain—refused to see it her way. In fact Aragorn forbid her to use her longknife, claiming in defense of his edict, that its use would one day get her killed.

So she had sparred with whomever she could convince to work with her, until she thought her arm would fail, and had finally mastered the sword to the point that she could pass the test that the leaders gave her.

She chuckled again, thinking about Joem. He was forthcoming to a fault, she would have to say. "What makes you think of him?" she asked Rhyse. "Did he tell you something I am unaware of?"

"He was evidently in conference with Aragorn quite early this morning," Rhyse offered.

"That I know," Jeren assured him. "I've already had the 'you shall follow orders, not usurp them' speech from our illustrious Chieftain." She'd straightened her spine and lowered her voice—as well as her chin—in direct imitation of Aragorn.

Rhyse lay back on the bed, his mirth bubbling out loudly. Jeren soaked it into her heart. Her man's laugh—husky and deep—always warmed her soul, and she did her best to make sure he employed it often when he was with her.

"So what did they discuss? I'm sure Joem told all who would listen."

"Brid's patrol happened onto a raid two mornings ago—quite early. The Orcs had obviously been there much of the night. There weren't that many of them doing the raiding—eight or nine, I think Joem said. But the patrol did not slay them all; they took a few captives—"

"—let me guess," Jeren interrupted, "Elladan _persuaded _at least one of the captives to spill his secrets."

Rhyse raised his brows and quirked his mouth into a small, lopsided grin. "You guess rightly." He got up from the bed, taking his clean weapons with him, leaning them against the wall in the corner by the door. "Brid sent half his patrol back here with the girl—"

"—Haleth," Jeren supplied.

Rhyse's smile flattened somewhat, showing his frustration at Jeren's inclination for interrupting him, and then he agreed, "Yes, Haleth…" She smiled back at him, knowing he was holding his tongue, and trying not to shout at her for interjecting her two cents into his story constantly tonight.

"And yes, the sons of Elrond rode with Brid's patrol this time, and yes again, Elladan employed his tactics to encourage those captive Orcs to talk."

"And—?" Jeren prompted.

"It was determined that there would be an Orcish gathering of sorts a week hence, in which a large number of Orcs would participate. They even told the location. Elladan must have really been _persuasive_ to get all that information out of them, if it is true, and they were not lying."

"Strange, since Elrohir was there…" Jeren mused, almost to herself. Elrohir had not been himself for quite some time. This only compounded her worry for him. "He usually will not allow Elladan the time he needs to _persuade_ a prisoner. Nor does Lord Elrond approve of his son's actions in cases such as this."

"Elladan has his reasons, I've heard," Rhyse said, his voice serious.

Jeren's tone, when she answered, had an almost faraway quality to it. "You've heard correctly..."

Rhyse began to gather Jeren's arrows, placing them in her quiver one at a time. He and Jeren had rarely discussed her attack by Orcs, only two brief mentions, when they'd first met. That she was thinking of it, he had no doubt, because he knew as well as she did that the twins' mother had also been accosted by the monsters, and that gave Elladan all the reason he needed to give in to his baser need for revenge.

Rhyse smoothly lifted the sword from Jeren's lax fingers and sheathed it. She looked up at him, and he bent down to her, kissing her lips. He broke away long enough to place the sword against the wall, and then joined her on the bed again.

The discussion was apparently over…

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren woke with a start. The room was dark; her heart pounded and her mouth was dry.

The dream had seemed so real. The pain, the sorrow—all as if it had happened to her in reality, not in a nightmare. She threw back the covers, the sweat trickling down the side of her face.

No wait—that was a tear. She'd been crying, and no wonder. Who wouldn't cry if confronted with the realism of such a nightmare?

She briefly wondered if her Dúnedain heritage was starting to gift her with insight into her future. No, she would not even entertain such an idea. It was a dream—a nightmare—and nothing more.

She snuggled against Rhyse and was rewarded when his arm came around her. It took not long for her to be asleep once again.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"I spoke to her."

Jeren immediately looked up from her meal to respond to Elrohir. "Really? What did Haleth say?"

"I said _I _spoke to _her_," he corrected, "not that she carried on _any_ sort of conversation with me."

They were in the dining hall for evening meal the following night. Rhyse must have been occupied elsewhere; Jeren was sure he would be joining them soon. Elrohir sat his plate down and straddled the bench, then tucked his legs beneath the table, setting a cup beside his plate.

"She remains in a silent sort of mood, Jeren."

"What did you tell her, Elrohir? That she is not at fault for anything? That she stood no chance at saving her mother?"

"That and more," he said, as he took a bite from the bread on his plate. He shoved his meal aside with what looked like a grimace of disgust. Jeren had noticed he'd not been eating well lately—she could actually see that he might have lost a little weight, too.

But he sounded more like himself tonight than he had the past few times she'd seen him, so that gave Jeren hope that whatever it was that bothered him might soon be a thing of the past.

"I stayed with her for almost an hour," he continued, after he'd swallowed the one bite he'd taken of his meal. "It was difficult keeping up a one-sided conversation for that length of time. She looked at me occasionally, especially when I would mention your name, but for the most part, it felt as if I were speaking to a rock."

Jeren raised her brows in question, but since her mouth was full, she didn't voice what it was she wanted to know.

"I did not mention my mother's story at all," he continued. "I decided that was for another time, when she is mentally stronger. But I did tell her your story; I hope you do not mind."

"If it would help her, I'd shout it from the wall."

"I truly know not if it eased her mind at all, but I did mention that having lost your—" Elrohir looked around, and decided the table was not yet filled enough that others would overhear what he said, so he whispered, "—virginity to the Orcs—" then in a quiet voice continued, "you feared that it would lessen your chances at marriage with a decent man. But I told her that it had not, since you are now 'being courted', shall we say, by Rhyse."

"And she said nothing?" Jeren asked. She pointed to Elrohir's plate, silently asking if he was indeed going to eat it; if not, she was eagerly waiting for his consent. He pushed the plate closer to her and smiled before answering.

"Not a word. She did not even return my greeting when I first made myself known to her. Nothing."

"I worry for her, Elrohir," Jeren said in a quiet voice. "When her eyes are not vacant, they are filled with guilt. I hope all goes well with her."

"We've done what we could," Elrohir replied. "When Elladan and I rescued you, you would at least speak to us. I know not if confronting her would be wise at this point. I think the next move is up to her."

"You certainly confronted me enough times, right after it had happened to me," Jeren said with a sour look on her face.

Elrohir laughed, but somehow Jeren couldn't hear any levity in it. "You were so defiant, Jeren, I could not help myself when it came to confronting you."

"It was a good thing Elladan was there," she said, "or I might have gotten up out of that bed and thrown you out myself."

They both laughed at that, but Jeren could still see that Elrohir was not half as happy as he was trying to make himself out to be.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"They've found her."

Jeren came to attention when she heard the news she'd been waiting for. She breathed a sigh of relief—they'd been looking for Haleth all morning.

Jeren was sitting down to her noon meal in the dining hall, when one of her fellow rangers just coming in the door imparted the news about the missing girl. This man, named Yuld, ever tried to be amusing, and usually he was, but today his words fell flat on her ears.

"Her body washed up on the near shore of the Bruinen, just south of the rapids, and Brid's patrol rescued her again, only this time she wasn't alive."

"The rapids?" someone shouted back. "She must've been insane."

"Exactly what I was thinking," Yuld replied. "And what a spiteful repayment she gave to Brid's patrol for saving her life the first time!" There were a few nervous chuckles from those within earshot, but his words only made Jeren feel sick to her stomach.

She felt as if cold water had been thrown in her face. She wanted to weep at this revelation, and to also shout at them all for being so very irreverent.

This morning they had been called to order here in the dining hall, as they were gathering to break their fasts. Halbarad had announced that each patrol would report to their captains immediately for search assignments, since the girl rescued from Orcs a few days ago had gone missing. She could not have fled during the night, as the gates on the wall were closed, but she must have left soon after dawn, when they were opened for the day. The night aid in the infirmary had drawn the curtain around Haleth's bed last evening before retiring to her room for the night, and when Lord Marach arrived this morning to check on the girl, she was nowhere to be seen.

Jeren's usually rabid appetite vanished completely and was replaced with an empty ache. She and the others of Joem's patrol had been searching all morning on the near bank of the river, to no avail. And now she knew why their hunt had been fruitless—Haleth had obviously made good on her wish to not live any more. The desperate girl's body had been found near the deepest, most treacherous current the Bruinen had to offer around here. Haleth must have waded into the rapids, been swept off her feet, and had then been caught by the rocks beneath the stream. She had literally drowned her sorrow in the swift-moving water.

Jeren wondered at the others around her who were now talking and laughing as if nothing untoward had occurred. Where was their respect for a girl so young, one forced to watch as her parents and brother were murdered before her eyes? Where was their caring that Orcs had wrenched an innocent from the only life she knew? How could they act as if their day had not been shattered by the death of one who had been alive and amongst them just this morning?

She got up from her chair, unable to abide them any longer. She tried not to blame them. They were asked to kill and risk their lives on an almost daily basis. Had she not also become somewhat inured to the killing and death around her? Was it only because she had identified with Haleth that she cared so much what had happened to her?

Jeren left the dining hall deep in thought about the tragedy of Haleth's short life. She paid no attention to where she was going, but was not surprised when she found herself at her Aunt Elenmere's door.

She knocked quietly and soon heard a "Come in, whoever you are," waft from the open window, the cheerful voice that of her aunt.

"Ah, Jeren!" Elen said with a smile as soon as she'd allowed her niece entrance into her small home. Her expression of happiness faded as she took a better look at the woman being seated at her kitchen table.

"What is it, dear?" Elen asked, her hands on Jeren's shoulders in concern.

"I am most troubled over the death of Haleth, the girl rescued from Orcs a few days ago."

Elen busied herself pouring Jeren a cup of tea. As she replaced the kettle onto the crane, but keeping it out of the hearth's fire, she said, "Ah, Jeren. It grieves me, too. 'Tis a tragedy. I cannot believe she is dead." Elen shook her head as she sat in the chair opposite Jeren's, stirring some honey into her own tea.

"Yes, Auntie, a tragedy," Jeren said sadly. She placed her hands around the cup her aunt had filled for her, not really needing the warmth it gave, but wanting its comfort nonetheless. "She ran to the river this morning sometime very early, probably as soon as the gates were opened. She was found washed up on the near bank."

Elen looked at Jeren, sympathy clear on her face. "You think she took her own life?" Elen's eyes searched Jeren's, as if she looked for answers to questions she could not fathom in her own mind.

"She did, Auntie," Jeren said, and a tear slipped down one of her cheeks. "I know that's exactly what she did. I knew she was distraught—that she wanted not to live. She told me so just the other day. But I truly did not believe she would ever do this."

Elen covered Jeren's hand with her own. "Of course you didn't, dear. No one in their right mind would even contemplate doing such a thing."

"But I feel to blame, Elen. As if there were something I might could have said that should have been a comfort to her. I told her about how the Orcs had abused me, just as they had done to her, and Elrohir told her my entire story. What else we could have done, I know not. She did not give herself enough time to allow the pain to lessen, or to really listen to what Elrohir and I tried to tell her..." Jeren's voice trailed off, as more tears spilled from her eyes.

"Jeren, honey," Elen said, "you must not torture yourself. You tried to help her. Aragorn told me you were the only one she trusted."

"That's just it, Elen!" Jeren said through a throat tight with tears. "She trusted me, and I did nothing for her!"

"You know that is not true," Elen said, trying once again to lift Jeren's spirits. "You did all you could, and we both know that in order to be helped, a person must first be willing to help themselves."

Jeren used a napkin that Elen had given her with her cup of tea to wipe at her reddened eyes.

"Elrohir visited with me just before you arrived," Elen said with a small smile on her face. "'Tis a wonder you did not bump noses with him on your way in!" She waited for some sign that she had lightened Jeren's mood, but was not thusly rewarded, so she finally went on. "He is feeling much the same way that you do. Perhaps the two of you could find solace together?"

"I feel almost as if Elrohir is angry at me for some reason, Auntie," Jeren explained. "He avoids me when he can and when he cannot, he is just not himself when he is around me. I doubt I will gain much solace from him."

"Elrohir is angry, yes," Elen said in her quietest voice. "But I think it has to do with something else, and not you. He is not himself with anyone, Jeren." Elen's subdued tone made Jeren glance up into her aunt's face, because Elen was almost always bubbling with enthusiasm, even when one would not think it should be so, and Jeren suddenly realized that her aunt was more solemn than she should have been, in spite of the topic of their conversation.

"Elen, is all right with you and your family?"

Elen's smile was exactly where it should have been, but it did not light up her eyes as it usually did. "Of course, my sweet niece. Everyone is well. The boys and James and Jamesica—even little Charlie, asleep in the next room, is taking his nap like a good lad."

"You do not seem yourself, Auntie," Jeren said, her brows drawn down to cloud her face even more.

"As I said before, Elrohir was here earlier and I worry for him, is all. But everything else is very right in my world!" She smiled warmly at Jeren, and Jeren knew with certainty that whatever had preoccupied Elen before had vanished. Elen asked Jeren if she wanted her tea re-warmed, since her niece had not even tasted it before it grew cold. Jeren conceded, and Elen rose to dump Jeren's cup out the front window. Elen moved the crane, on which hung the kettle, over the fire again to wait for the water to heat.

"Getting back to our Elven friend," Elen said, "you might not find solace from him, but I am not sure he would not benefit from your presence. He feels the failure with Haleth even more so than you do, I think."

"That, too, is my fault," Jeren said. "I am the one who suggested he see her."

They were interrupted when they heard little feet scamper across the floor to them.

"Mama!" little Charlie cried out as he ran to hug Elen around the knees. At first he buried his face in her apron, but then he glanced up at his mother, a beaming smile on his face.

Jeren held her arms out to Charlie then, and he ran to her next. She picked him up and sat him on her lap, and as she did, it struck her how very much like Elen he looked—the same big, bright blue eyes—the same wide beaming smile. At almost three, little Charlie was a very handsome lad.

He was still a little sleepy from his nap, so he laid his face against Jeren's breast.

A stab of wistfulness pierced her heart. She'd never much thought about having any children of her own, but having one of Charlie's little hands holding fast to her tunic brought yearnings to her she never thought to experience. And having her arms full of life was helping to chase all thoughts of death from her mind.

"Mama," Charlie said, "Where's Sissy?" He couldn't pronounce the words very well, but he could be understood. Jeren wanted to laugh for the first time all day.

"Outside playing swords, I imagine," Elen said with a knowing look at Jeren.

"I'm sorry, Auntie," Jeren said with just a wee bit of contriteness—because she wasn't much sorry at all—"I know I shouldn't encourage Jamesica."

Elen laughed, completely herself again. "I'd have it no other way. Jamesica seems to have been born more boy than girl. I've all but quit fighting it, most of the time. And she couldn't have a better woman to emulate than you, Jeren. If that's the price I must pay to have you here with us, then it is a price well worth paying.

Now it was Jeren who was beaming. She never dreamed to be a part of a real family, but the dream had found her, in the form of her Aunt Elen and her wonderful brood.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Elrohir gazed out at the horses in the pasture. They were still beautiful in his eyes, even though most had been too badly injured for a ranger to ride at the present or were too old to join in the hunts any more. He hooked his booted foot up on the narrow, rough-hewn plank of the fence and leaned on the top rail with his forearms.

Jasper, at the ripe old age of twenty-one, was the oldest horse out here. This afternoon he had recognized the Elf and had come up to the fence to be scratched. Elrohir obliged him, rubbing between Jasper's eyes till the old horse closed them in some sort of equine ecstasy. The Elf then ran his hand down the horse's long face, and scratched for a moment under his chin. Jasper nibbled at Elrohir's outstretched palm, and then snorted when the treat he expected wasn't there. Elrohir smiled and wiped his hand on the horse's sleek neck.

Elrohir had come out here to get away from everyone and everything. His mood was so black, he wondered that the horses could not feel it, but they seemed not to fret. He was glad, because he needed to be near things that breathed—but that also could not talk.

Elrohir thought of Anardil as he stroked Jasper's old hide. Many times Jasper had carried the man on Orc hunts, even to the very last one in which Anardil had been wounded and had ultimately lost his battle against a poison that ate at his flesh from the inside out. And that's just how Elrohir felt now—as if something were gnawing at him, and it festered in his mind, until one day it would eat its way to the outside, no longer to be kept secret.

He'd not even told Elladan—in fact, as soon as Elrohir had become aware of this toxic truth, he'd closed it off in a corner of his mind, so that his twin would be none the wiser. Even though they shared a mysterious link of minds, neither of the brothers kept their thoughts entirely open to the other, so Elladan would not even notice anything was amiss. Nothing except for this constant bad mood Elrohir seemed to be unable to shake. Elladan had not remarked on Elrohir's attitude yet, but it was only a matter of time. Elrohir would not have lasted this long, had the situation been reversed, and it had been Elladan growing more morose with each passing day. He was lucky Elladan was more patient than he.

Elrohir laughed to himself. _Elladan patient? Not in his experience he wasn't._ So why his twin was giving him all this space, Elrohir could not guess, he was only thankful that he was.

And today? Shouting at Elen for no good reason. He owed the woman an apology, but could not bring himself to face her yet. All she had done was to ask him how Jeren had taken the news of Haleth's death, and he had answered her sharply, telling her did not know nor did he have the will to find out.

Haleth. The poor, misguided girl; taking her own life. So convinced there was no future for her. At first thought, if one compared the stories of Jeren and Haleth, Elrohir would have said that Jeren had been the more damaged of the two. Then why had Haleth done as she had? Why did Jeren find a way out of the despair that had haunted her after her attack by Orcs, and why had Haleth succumbed to the darkness? Perhaps because Jeren had only her own misfortune to mourn, and Haleth had not just her own trial to bring despair to her, but also the deaths of her entire family heaped upon that.

Elrohir nodded slowly. Haleth died because her heart was broken—her entire world had been shattered. While Jeren had been brutalized and tortured, at least she had not also been made witness to the ruination of all she held dear.

Elrohir gave Jasper a final pat, once again tamping all his dark thoughts down into a corner of his mind, to keep them there hidden away. He turned and went to join the others in the hall. He had a raid on some Orcs to plan with Estel and Elladan. The Orcs Elladan had brutalized had told of a gathering, of sorts, this coming week.

Elrohir sighed as he thought about his brother and how he had inflicted pain so severe, that not just one but two Orcs had told of the secret rendezvous a few days from now. At the time, he'd not interfered, like he had done many times in the past, as his brother tortured the brutes; he knew that he had no right to pass any sort of judgment on Elladan—not when his own heart felt withered and vile.

He sighed again. There was much to be decided and much more to be done, if the rangers were to be ready to ride out tomorrow.

Jasper whickered softly as Elrohir walked away.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The rendezvous point the captured Orcs had revealed to Elladan was threateningly close to the stronghold. It made Aragorn and the twins take pause when they looked at the map and confirmed their fear. All had known of the rocky, cavern-pocked place, and that it was very close to the Dúnedain settlement, but had not dared to believe just how near it lay until they'd looked at their maps. It lay due east, across the Bruinen, not even two hours distant.

The three had spent the better part of the afternoon in the alcove, hammering out their strategy to take the Orcs by surprise five days hence. They had then called in the captains and had explained all to them, answering questions and taking their suggestions into account. So tonight, directly after the evening meal, they were ready to announce the plans to the rangers as a group.

Since it was such a large undertaking, all the patrols plus Aragorn and the twins would be involved. Halbarad and several other men, including one from each of the six patrols, would be left in place in the stronghold for defense, should it become necessary, but the majority of the rangers would be gone on the rout; they were sure it could be nothing but a success, since it would be a surprise venture.

"We need volunteers, one from each patrol, to stay behind and man the stronghold, since all patrols will go on this mission," Aragorn said. "There is the chance that the information we came by is wrong, and their numbers will be greater than reported, hence our added strength. Of course, since one can never trust an Orc, there is also the chance the whole report was a ruse, made up to best us on a level they understand, and make us gather for naught. I do not expect an onslaught of the settlement in our absence, but the gates will remain closed and we will prepare for any eventuality."

The rangers looked at each other. To a man, none ever wanted to be left behind. Had they had the time, they might have cast lots to decide their fate, but the Chieftain was waiting. Slowly a few hands rose reluctantly into the air.

Jeren had never voluntarily stayed behind on a mission, but this time she raised her hand. She had just gotten back from a six-week patrol, and could easily use the rest. And it was only fair that she occasionally take her turn staying behind.

Aragorn accepted the volunteers from the other five patrols, but when it came to Joem's patrol, he stopped. "We will need your bow, Jeren," he said plainly. "Another volunteer?"

Someone else from their group raised his hand and the meeting continued, Aragorn telling the where and why of the mission.

"We leave at dawn. Questions?" Aragorn said in conclusion. When no one raised a hand or voiced any doubt, Aragorn dismissed the meeting.

Rhyse poked Jeren in the ribs, moving subtly so no one else could see what he'd done. But she felt it and jumped, turning toward him with a scowl on her face.

"_What_?"

"Why did you try to volunteer to stay?" he asked, sounding as if he were a little put out by her decision. She had certainly not mentioned it to him beforehand. But he knew her well enough by now to know that her mind was her own, and she would bristle at even a hint that he might be trying to direct her life in any way.

Jeren did not answer him. She was tired and disheartened over Haleth's death. That was reason enough for her.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"I suppose this will be the last time we can be together for awhile," Jeren told Rhyse wistfully as they lay on her bed. In the light from the only candle she'd lit earlier, he looked so young. And he was—a full two years younger than she was. The difference did not bother her most of the time, but on nights like tonight—when she felt so ancient and tired—she had much trouble reconciling herself to the fact. She traced her finger along his profile. He captured her hand and turned toward her.

"Then let's make the most of it, shall we?" he asked, as he took her into his arms and drew her closer. He kissed her, and then his lips left a searing trail down her neck. He paused to untie her tunic and small shirt, and pulling both aside, he continued his assault on her throat and down onto her shoulder.

Jeren lacked a certain enthusiasm, as if her mind were elsewhere. Rhyse had been trying to bring her out of her melancholy for most of the evening they had spent together, but had failed miserably. This was his one last attempt before he would be giving up and calling it a night.

He propped himself up on one elbow. "Sweetness," he said, as he brushed a wayward strand of hair from her face, "what can I do to make you feel better?"

Jeren smiled, and Rhyse could not tell if there was any mirth behind it at all. "If you could bring Haleth back, and make her tell me why she killed herself, then mayhap I could let it go. But I do not think that is within your power, _Honeycakes_." Rhyse knew he had struck a nerve, not only by the words she'd spoken, but also by the upward tilt of one of her eyebrows.

His laugh at the strange endearment she'd given him echoed in the small room, but then he kissed her lips briefly. Jeren didn't like the pet names people sometimes gave each other, thus Rhyse had used one to help bring her out of her mood. Temper was better than sadness, to his way of thinking.

"Besides that, then," he said. "What would you have me do?"

Jeren looked at him, the seduction she saw written on his face she felt sure must now be reflected in hers. "Love me, Rhyse," she said, as her hands started working the ties of his tunic. "Love me until I am happy again."

"That sounds like a challenge!" he said, his smile infectious. "I believe I'm well up to it, my lady."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Rhyse felt as if he'd climbed a mountain in the heat of summer. His skin was slick with sweat and his muscles quivered from all the effort he'd put into the challenge that Jeren had given him. He should have been victorious. She should be shouting from top of the wall about how well loved she was. Yet Jeren's face still held some traces of her prior sadness.

When he had caught his breath, he propped himself up on one elbow to study her more closely. While no one would have ever called Jeren beautiful, he thought her striking—and he loved every inch of her. From her soulful gray eyes—which were closed at the moment—to her high cheekbones and down to her slightly pointed chin; the scar marring the space between her breasts; all the way down to her toes—she was all he would ever want or need. He lifted his hand to trace the scar that ran beside her left eye. Angrily he thought he would never be able to kill enough Orcs in order for the beasts to pay sufficiently for what they had done to her. But all she had been through was part of what made her as she was, and he could never regret that.

Jeren smiled as Rhyse's finger touched the skin of her face. She opened her eyes to see his frown. "What is wrong, Rhyse?" she asked. "Did I not live up to the challenge _either_?"

He clamped his teeth together, acting as if the slight made him angry, but instead of a spoken tirade, he began tickling her. She did not last long under his onslaught.

"I concede!" she laughed, as she batted at his hands. "You were magnificent! You have more than surpassed what I challenged!"

"That is better!" he declared, as he flopped back down on the bed beside her. After a few moments of catching his breath again, he said, "'Tis good to hear your laugh, Jeren."

"It feels good to be laughing. Thank you, Rhyse—for putting a smile back on my face and in my heart."

But as they lay there together, with Rhyse on his side watching her again, her smile faded once more.

"Do not tell me I'm going to have to keep this up all night," he said, his tone no longer playful, but more sensual.

Jeren smiled again. "No, you have to keep nothing up, Rhyse."

He buried his face in the crook of her neck and laughed heartily again. "You are a wicked, wicked lady," he finally said. "But tell me; are you truly sad about Haleth again?"

"No," she admitted, "that is not what has my heart dragging now." She looked at him, to drive home the point she was about to make. "Now do not be laughing, or thinking I am jesting with you—" She paused, as if indecisive about whether to continue or not.

"I promise I won't laugh," Rhyse said when it was apparent Jeren might not finish what she had been saying. He settled them both down in the bed, her head in the crook of his arm. "I will not laugh," he said again, to reemphasize the point.

"It is just that I know you'll be taking your leave of me now, and that makes me sad. I wish that you could stay with me tonight—hold me like this. It makes me feel safe from everything when you do."

"You know that since we are off on another mission early tomorrow, I must be in my own bunk in the morning."

"I wish you never had to leave."

"We could be together all the time, were we wed," he said, his tone sensible.

Jeren seemed to think about that for a moment, but then she smiled.

"Let's do get married, Rhyse!" she said excitedly. "As soon as we are back from this mission, I say we get Lord Aragorn to perform the rite, and we can be together always. There's no reason to wait any longer, is there?"

He kissed her soundly and then said, "No reason whatsoever to wait."

"You could move in up here with me," Jeren said. "It's a little small, but what more room do we need? We take our meals in the dining hall, so there's no need for any kitchen or stove."

"It sounds like a wonderful life," he said, his voice genuinely happy. "I will!"

"You will what?"

"I will marry you! It was _so_ kind of you to ask."

Jeren took her pillow and smacked him soundly in the face, but he grabbed it from her and settled them back down again. After a few minutes of contented silence, he added, "I love you Jeren. It will make my life complete were you to become my wife. If I were to die tomorrow, I would die a happy man."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**A/N I Want to thank the reviewers who took the time to leave a note. A heartfelt THANKS goes out to Elf in a Bottle, Song in the Woods, and Sadie Sil. It means so much to have feedback, and I appreciate every note anyone might leave.  
><strong>


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The rangers gathered inside the gate the next morning as darkness was beginning to fade slowly with the dawn. As usual, Jeren was there before many of the others had assembled, including Rhyse and the sons of Elrond. Each patrol was made up of a dozen men, give or take a few, so the crowd of horses and men was growing larger by the minute. Aragorn and Elladan joined her moments later, leading their horses, but Elrohir was nowhere to be seen.

"Where is your brother?" Jeren asked. One twin rarely left the other to go on a mission alone, unless the one not going was injured or otherwise detained.

"He will be along later," Aragorn told her. She was somewhat surprised that he'd answered, since she had really been speaking to Elladan. He threw one of the stirrups over his saddle and tightened the girth around his horse's midsection. The gelding snorted and huffed, but Aragorn was able to buckle the cinch one hole tighter. "Elrohir had some business to attend to with Elen, and did not want to intrude upon her and her family at this early hour."

Rhyse joined them about ten minutes later, just as the gates opened for the day.

"Forgive my lateness, my lord," he said, addressing Aragorn. "I seemed to have overslept." He darted a look at Jeren, and she could tell he was having difficulty keeping the smile from his face.

Aragorn looked first at Jeren, and then at Rhyse, his expression telling them both that he knew exactly what they were about, but he said nothing. Shaking his head, he mounted his horse; at the unspoken signal, all the others did the same.

The hunt was on.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

They had traveled for a little more than two hours when Aragorn called a halt, instructing the captains to each take their patrols and scout the outlying area. They all knew to be quiet and guarded; there were many caves and caverns around this place, and Orcs could be in any one or several of them.

The ground was rocky and strewn with boulders, but was also covered in brush and trees, more so than the terrain would have suggested. The verdant green was in stark contrast to the dirt and stone in which the plant life grew. As if the brush and trees did not give the enemy cover enough, the area was riddled with holes and crevices, in which creatures such as Orcs could breed and thrive.

Joem's patrol explored the territory they'd been given by the Chieftain and found nothing amiss. It was midafternoon when they joined the others at the camp that had been set up by those who had finished their scouting first. Jeren exhaled audibly with thanks that at least that chore was not in her future.

The land was well sheltered with trees here, so Jeren was grateful for the shade, but likewise, she knew the danger as well. Where there was sufficient cover, Orcs could be about, even in the light of day. They would all have to be cautious of their surroundings.

They took care of their horses, and then sat by the cook fire in the center of the area. They had a fire now, but it would have to be doused before the sun set for the night, and probably not lit again until the mission was over. They ran the risk of their smoke being seen or smelt, but it was a risk they were fine with taking today. They had scouted the area well, and had found no evidence of any Orcish presence. There was also an Elf in their midst, and if Orcs were close, he would be the first to be aware of that.

"The night watch assignments are as follows," Aragorn said, entering the clearing. "Starting with tonight and then rotating through for as long as we are here: Lorn, Joem, Ned, Brid, Dell and Ander. I need not tell you how vulnerable we are here and how we must be alert at all times. Especially during the dark hours."

It was obvious that Lorn's patrol had been given their assignment early, because Jeren now noticed they were spread out a little apart from the others, asleep. She was thankful that Joem's patrol had not drawn this short straw, because she did not think she would be able to stay awake all night tonight. She was very tired; the same dream that had caused her to wake in a cold sweat night before last had haunted her dreams again last night. Without Rhyse's comforting presence, she'd been unable to sleep and had lain awake for hours. Dawn had come much too quickly this morning.

"The Orcs are not set to gather in this region until four days from now," Aragorn continued. "But we all know how trustworthy Orcs are—or are not—so we must be ready for them to show at any time. You are dismissed."

As Aragorn made that announcement, Elrohir rode into the campsite. After he'd set his elven mount free for the evening, he joined the others. From the grim set of his jaw, Jeren wondered if her aunt was ill; but then, Elrohir looked grim quite frequently these days without any such dire reason. Yet she had to know if Elen might have need of her.

"Elrohir, is Elen all right?" She could not help the edge of worry in her voice.

Elrohir sat beside his brother, accepting a good-natured shove in the arm as a greeting from his twin. Over the glowing, flame-licked coals was a pot of stew, and Elrohir took the plate Elladan had set aside from his own meal and filled it again, quickly spooning up a bite before he answered Jeren.

He glanced up at her briefly, but continued to chew and finally, swallowing, said, "She is fine. Why?"

"Lord Aragorn said you had to see her before you left; I just wondered if all was well with her."

"Yes, all is well." Elrohir took another bite of the stew and turned away, listening to what his brothers were saying.

All Jeren really wanted to do was curl up in her blankets for the night, but she would not show any such weakness to the other rangers. She had fought hard to be admitted into their ranks, and, being the only woman, she had set a high standard for what would be acceptable conduct in their midst and what would not be. So she sat where she was, almost numb with fatigue, thinking bleak thoughts about Haleth. Try as she might, Jeren could not keep the girl's memory from haunting her. And this puzzled her. She'd not even truly known the girl who had taken her own life a few days ago. Their involvement had been so brief. Why would this poor, misguided person even cross her mind, much less take up so much room in her thoughts?

Jeren heaved a big sigh and crossed her arms over her drawn up knees.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Two mornings later, just before sunrise, Rhyse and Jeren were patrolling their area on the northern perimeter of the camp, finishing their duty for the night. None of the rangers ever patrolled alone, especially in darkness, and the two of them worked well together, each anticipating the other's moves. _Usually._

But Jeren was having a hard time staying awake, after spending the entire night on her feet, except for a brief break they were allowed halfway through their shift. She yawned hugely, feeling as if her jaw might come unhinged, when Rhyse stole up behind her and jabbed her in the ribs.

She jumped and swore, and the look she gave him would have put a lesser man on his guard, but he knew her well, so he merely stood back out of her reach.

"What is the attraction you seem to find with my ribs lately, Rhyse?" she asked angrily, her voice quiet steel. "I will gladly thank you to keep your hands to yourself, especially while we are on duty."

"I had to see for myself that you were awake, and the fact that I even got my fingers close to your ribs is all the proof I need that you were nodding off. I'll not be depending on someone asleep on her feet," he answered coolly. "You've not been on your toes this entire mission—"

"—how dare you say such a thing to me?" she interrupted him angrily. "The mission is all of two days old, Rhyse. I knew someone was behind me, but I also knew that it was you! I am ever on my guard, which is more than you can say."

They were keeping their argument quiet, their voices mere hisses between them. Neither was in an exemplary mood after having been up all night.

"Inattentive _and_ testy," he amended his former statement. "Ever since Haleth met her unfortunate end, you've not been yourself."

They turned away from each other, scanning the rocks and boulders in their sight, making sure nothing was amiss. The sky was lightening with the coming dawn, the shadows among the rocks, looking as a graveyard might, so many dark ghosts hovering around their stone markers.

Jeren didn't say anything, but she turned back to face him, ready to make amends. It was then that they both heard the sound, an arrow whistling through the air. They looked in the direction the noise was coming from, then back to each other, Jeren just in time to see the missile hit its mark—coming right through Rhyse's back to protrude through his left shoulder.

The stunned look on his face shook Jeren to the core.

"Rhyse!" she screamed, then immediately screamed again to alert the others, "Orcs!"

She loosened her sword in its sheath and ran to Rhyse, intent on staying low, but needing to see to his welfare. She could hear the beasts now, many of them, approaching at a run. It wouldn't be long before she was swamped. Her fear hiked up to fever pitch.

Rhyse was conscious and aware, but in tremendous pain. She half lifted, half dragged him toward the cover of some brush, but the arrow in his back snagged on the bushes she was trying to get him through. He cried out with the pain of it, and she shushed him, trying to get them both out of harm's way.

But it was not to be. Two Orcs materialized in the gray of the dawn, right in front of Jeren and Rhyse. She'd tried to get them both into a hiding place before they were found out, but Rhyse's cry and the growing light told on them sure as sunrise. And now Jeren could only fight for their lives.

She exchanged parries with the two Orcs, retreating as much as she could, until she could feel her boots bumping against Rhyse's body. She had nowhere else to go. Having been backed into a corner, she could do nothing but go on the attack, her voice rising right along with her blade. The swords clanked and clanged over and over again, as she gained a small bit of ground. Sparks flew as she swung her blade against the curved steel of her opponents. The Orcs had withdrawn almost five steps when a third Orc emerged onto their small battlefield. She was so tired, feeling as if her arm would not last, but giving up was not in her, so she continued to fight, praying all the time that the twins or some of the rangers would come barreling through the brush to her rescue.

She struck the enemy steel several more times, and managed to kill one of the Orcs. She suddenly caught sight of Aragorn running toward her. His face was fierce and his voice was raised, so that he might attract the Orcs' attention from her. She took precious time to thank the Valar for her salvation, when one of the Orcs took advantage of her distraction. He aimed his blade to strike her neck, meaning to sever her head from her shoulders, and he hefted the steel with all his might—a killing blow. She caught the motion in the nick of time. She shrank back and sideways, trying to get away from the threatening curved sword, but it was too little too late. The steel bit deep, high on her right arm. She felt the blade sink into her flesh and hit the bone, breaking it. Her sword fell from her lifeless hand—it seemed to no longer even be a part of her.

And then she was falling backward; falling over Rhyse, onto the stony ground. She hit her head on a rock as she went down, and stars exploded in her field of vision.

And then she knew no more.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren did not know how long she'd been out, but when she came to, the battle was over and the twins and Aragorn were bent over her. She started to weep; knowing that if the three of them were tending to her, all must be lost and Rhyse had to be dead. She'd thought he'd only had a shoulder wound, but she'd not had the time to see the angle from which the arrow had entered his back. His spine could have been severed or a lung punctured. It mattered not. All the healers among them were gathered around her. _He had to be dead_.

"Rhyse," she wept. It had happened just as she'd dreamed. She could not help repeating his name, over and over. She'd known him such a short while—only three years—and had not opened her heart to him until this past one. She wept for time wasted and for time not yet come. The future they were going to have. _They were supposed to be married soon…_

"I'm here, Jeren," she heard him say. She puckered her brow, confused.

"Where? I can't see you. Or mayhap I'm dead as well?"

She heard him chuckle slightly, and then groan. "Do not make me laugh, woman. I've just had an Orc's arrow pulled through my shoulder."

He sounded almost drunk. But then that shouldn't be surprising, if the twins or Aragorn had ministered to him, they most likely had given him something for pain.

She tried to rise, wanting to see Rhyse for herself, but three pairs of hands kept her pressed to the ground. She then realized she'd been moved. She was no longer in the rocks she and Rhyse had been patrolling, but back at the camp, lying on some blankets.

Her head hurt like fire, but her arm hurt worse. It was funny; where she was cut, the pain was excruciating, but she had little or no feeling in her hand or fingers.

"If you don't stay still," Elladan warned, "we will put you to sleep so you won't be fighting us at every turn."

She remembered very well the sleep to which he referred. When Orcs had attacked her when she was sixteen, as the twins tended her afterward, they would chant words over her and she would sleep. Blessed, peaceful sleep. But that was not what interested her right now. Rhyse. She had to see him for herself.

"I'm not fighting," she said defensively. "I merely want to get up to see to Rhyse. He's hurt, you know."

"Rhyse has already been seen to and your wound is far worse than his, so stay still," Aragorn said. "I suppose since she is talking sense, her head wound isn't so bad." He'd switched from talking to her to talking about her. It made Jeren confused.

"The Orcs," she said, finally remembering. "It must have been a small party that came upon Rhyse and me suddenly."

"No," Elladan said. "It was the group we were expecting, only two days early. Worry not about it; the work is done."

"And I didn't even get to string my bow!"

"Next time," Aragorn said.

"From the looks of this wound, there might not be a next time," Elladan said, mostly under his breath. Jeren did not hear him, but Elrohir did.

"I'm awfully tired," Jeren said, uncharacteristically. She was the most uncomplaining person any of them knew.

"Then go to sleep," Aragorn said. "You were up on patrol all night. There's no reason for you to stay awake now."

And before any of them could say anything else, Jeren was again asleep.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

That is when the argument began…

"Let's bandage her arm to her side to restrict its movement," Elrohir said. "There's no time to lose."

"It is fortunate she isn't bleeding more profusely," Aragorn said slowly, sitting back on his heels. The expression he wore told of his reluctance in following whatever plan he knew Elrohir might have on his mind. "The blade just missed the large vein that goes down into her arm, so there's no need to rush. Lord Marach can do this work tomorrow, even the following day."

"Just what are you saying, Estel?" Elrohir asked, although he already knew.

"The damage is too great. None of us—not even the settlement's healer—have the skill to put this arm back to rights. It must come off."

Elrohir looked at Elladan then, but Elladan would not meet his twin's eyes.

"You are proposing the unthinkable," Elrohir said to both of his brothers. He looked from one to the other, but they would not return his determined stare. He rummaged through his things and, finding one of his shirts, he began tearing it into strips, and then tying the strips together. He was soon ready to bandage Jeren's arm against her chest, as he'd suggested earlier, but no one moved to help him.

"Elladan—" Elrohir said, still waiting for aid, wanting either or both of his brothers to lift Jeren so his task would be easier.

"Elrohir—" Aragorn began.

"I will not hear of it, Estel," he said, looking directly into his brother's eyes.

"Listen to reason," Elladan started.

"Not you, too?" Elrohir got up from his crouch and walked a short distance away, but returned, not wanting to shout for the entire campsite to hear. "Father can do this—I know he can."

"Her arm will never function correctly, Elrohir. The muscles and sinews have been too damaged," Aragorn said emphatically, but not without sympathy.

"Even if Father could do this, it is still basically reattaching her arm," Elladan said. "Father has much surgical skill, I know he does, but he cannot do miracles. To even attempt surgery this delicate, it must be performed immediately after the injury, if there is to be any hope of its success—and we are over four hours away from him. No, it is as Estel has said, Brother. You know it, too! Her arm will never work correctly again."

"I do _not_ know that," Elrohir answered heatedly. "You are forgetting who we are speaking about, Elladan. This is Jeren—a survivor, even when all is against her. You, more than anyone, should not forget that."

He looked at both of them, silently beseeching each to agree with him, to help him. They both stood then, obviously not supporting Elrohir's plan. He crouched again and painstakingly lifted the girl and wrapped the bandage around her, over and over, until he was sure there would be no movement of the arm as he rode with Jeren to Rivendell.

Without another word, he gathered his saddlebags and reins and whistled for his horse. The beast materialized out of the trees moments later, and Elrohir bridled him. He put his saddlebags across the horse's withers. He checked his waterskin, and it was almost full, but he retrieved Elladan's from his gear and placed it beside his own on his horse. He then returned to Jeren and lifted her gently, not really knowing how he was going to get her and himself up on his horse without any help.

Determined, he stepped up to Elladan, holding Jeren outward slightly. Elladan shook his head at first, but finally decided to accept the burden. As he moved to take Jeren from Elrohir's arms, Elrohir grasped Elladan's wrists, and, closing his eyes, began the chant that would keep Jeren asleep for the few hours it would take to get her to his father. Elladan's shoulders slumped, but he, too, said the chant they both knew, adding his strength to his brother's.

"Elrohir," he pleaded, "this foolish plan of yours could kill her outright. And we all know she would live, if we take her to Lord Marach and allow him to do his work."

Elrohir mounted his horse, ready to accept Jeren before him. As soon as she was settled, he said, "At what price, though, Elladan? If she dies during the journey, at least I will know I did all that I could for her. I know her. She would not wish to live if she could no longer wield her weapons. And I will not be able to withstand watching another girl take her own life, when she feels as if life is no longer worth living. I could not bear that. Especially when we speak of Jeren. She has conquered much, Brother; but I do not know that she could bear a blow of this magnitude."

"Go quickly then, Elrohir. Stay safe. You know my hope is with you."

Elrohir nodded and kicked his horse into a quick trot.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Elrond glanced up from his work, his eyes trained toward the door, when he heard the commotion in the hallway outside his study. He jumped to his feet, sending the chair behind his desk squealing across the tiles of the floor a few inches. He was certain he heard Elrohir's voice above the others, as a number of people were obviously making their way down the corridor toward the Healing Halls.

He threw open the door and quickly caught up to the group, grasping arms, moving Elves away from the center, so he could get a good look at who his son was carrying. His heart fell to his feet when he saw Jeren, pale and barely breathing in Elrohir's arms.

He took Jeren from his son, as he had those many years ago, when the twins had first brought her here, and the reason was the same now as it was then—because she'd again been grievously hurt. He hurried with her to the Healing Halls.

Elrohir's ride had been mostly uneventful, and he was thankful for that. He'd not been able to travel as fast as he would have liked; a driving rain had poured down on them when they were halfway to their destination. While he did not stop, it was necessary to slow his horse. The water fell in torrents for more than twenty minutes, making his vision blur and the trail grow slippery. So he was even later in his arrival home than he'd planned.

As he'd brought Jeren through one of the back entrances of the Last Homely House, he had called out for help, and Erestor had answered that call. Erestor's assistant Ainion caught up with them quickly. As they made their way toward the Healing Halls, they had picked up three others—Naith, Daeron and Bellasiel, the head cook from the kitchen.

And now they all stood around the bed that Elrond had placed Jeren upon. But the Elf lord only had eyes for his patient.

He called for instruments, which Daeron promptly supplied, and Elrond quickly took up a sharp knife and sliced through the bandage that Elrohir had fashioned to keep Jeren's arm still.

"How long has she been sleeping?" he asked Elrohir, as he lifted the lid of one of Jeren's eyes.

"Hours, Father," he replied, "but Elladan and I enhanced her sleep, so worry not that the bump on her head is more serious than it appears. She was speaking to us and making sense before she fell asleep the last time, and she was also on patrol the entire night. She should stay asleep for a little while longer, but I would think you would use your skill to deepen her unconscious state before you perform the hours-long surgery you will most certainly do."

Elrond's steely gaze stabbed at Elrohir's unyielding facade. He could tell from the expression on Elrohir's face that he might be in for a fight with this son of his. In favor of wasting no more time, the Elf lord bent to cut the last of the bandages from Jeren's arm.

Elrohir watched in despair as he saw Elrond's face fall at the sight of Jeren's injury.

When Elrond looked up at his son, his eyes held challenge and pain.

"What would you have me do, Elrohir?" Elrond asked, clearly offended. "There is truly only one option open to me—surgery, yes, but of the most basic type—a very quick fix. You or your brothers could have performed it at the settlement. Is there some particular reason you wanted it to be me who took her arm?"

"Father," Elrohir said quietly. "You must try and save it. You are the only one who can." At Elrond's dubious expression, he quickly added, "I know it's been several hours since the wound was dealt, but please Father. This is Jeren. If anyone could heighten the chances of her arm remaining, it would be you. There is no one else who would even try, but I knew you would—for her."

Elrond continued to stare at his son, indecision clearly written on his face.

"Please, Ada," Elrohir pleaded. "For _her_. All I am asking is that you at least make the attempt. You can do no more than that—but also no less."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**A/N: Thanks again to all who stopped and left a review. You really help to keep me on track and to keep writing. It was actually a review from "Follow Your Heart" that even gave me the idea for this story in the first place, so you know how valuable your input is.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.**

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Elrohir, you are a fool for letting emotion rule you so completely," Glorfindel said as he laid his hand atop the younger Elf's fingers—for perhaps the fiftieth time—to keep him from drumming them on the table. Confident that the insistent tapping was stopped for the moment, he picked up his glass and sipped at the wine within it. "Especially as concerns a Human. It is reckless. Complete folly."

"Ah, Glor, you are letting your age show. Only the youthful have energy enough to expend on emotion."

The ancient warrior shot a killing glance at his young protégé, and Elrohir raised one fine, dark brow.

"You wound me," Glorfindel said sarcastically. Elrohir thought not to laugh at the droll expression on the older Elf's face, partly because he knew his opponent would not take it well, but mostly because there was nothing that could turn his mood from worry for long. So he settled for a crooked smile and took a small taste of his drink.

The sparring elves had been at this battle of words and wits for several hours—and through almost two bottles of wine—waiting on the veranda outside the Healing Halls, expecting that at any minute Elrond would emerge from within after working on Jeren's injured arm. That is, they had been assuming for more than an hour that he would show himself soon, and both grew edgier by the minute with the anticipation of what tidings the Elf lord would bring. The day was waning; the scarlet reflection in the western sky was all that was left of the sun.

Of course Glorfindel professed not to care overmuch, one way or another, about how Elrond's latest venture in the Healing Halls turned out. But Elrohir knew better. He saw the set of his old teacher's lips, how his jaw worked as he clenched his teeth repeatedly.

No, Glorfindel did not make a habit of becoming overly fond of Humans; that could only mean trouble for an Elf. However there were a few exceptions to his mostly hard and fast rule about not developing attachments to the second-born, but others need not know that necessarily. At least he would never tell them it was so.

They both glanced up when the door to the veranda opened and Elrond stepped through it, closing it behind him.

"Thank Ilúvatar," Elrohir said, half under his breath.

"I am sorry I could not fulfill my task in the amount of time you apparently allotted to me," Elrond said dryly, as he pulled a chair away from the table and sat. Since there were only two glasses, he confiscated Elrohir's half-full goblet and drank deeply. He filled it again and sat back.

"Well?" Glorfindel asked when Elrond continued to sit without saying a word.

"Well," Elrond said while looking pointedly at Glorfindel, "Jeren will more than likely hate me when she awakens later."

"Ah, more emotion," Glorfindel said to Elrohir. "I see where you get this wearying trait."

Elrohir ignored Glorfindel's barb, his expression turning bleak, until Elrond added, "I doubt she will have half the use of that arm that she once had. I did what I could, but there was so much damage."

Elrond noticed his son's quiet exhale, the relaxing of his jaw, a hand placed over his eyes. He knew how much Elrohir cared for Jeren—how they all cared for her—and he had to admit that he had desperately not wanted to amputate her arm himself, if he could see a way not to. But to saddle a woman warrior, such as Jeren, with an arm that did not work—he knew not which thing would be worse in her eyes: No arm or a useless one.

"I must have changed my mind about keeping that limb more than five times," he admitted. "After the first two hours, I thought that I was surely wasting my time. The likelihood of infection is great. The bone is broken—and in a horrible place—right below the shoulder joint. If it decides to knit at all, it will always be weak. My efforts may still be proved a waste. It depends on how one looks at it." He gave his son a sharp look. "Did she know how grievously she was hurt?"

"I truly do not know, Father," Elrohir said. "I think not. She tried to rise at one point to see after Rhyse. He was also wounded, but not as badly as she."

Elrond took another long drink from his glass, and fixed his steely gaze back on Elrohir. "I fully expect you to see her through this," he said directly to his son. "After all, it was your idea."

Elrohir looked startled momentarily, but recovered quickly. "Of course I will help with her, in any way you think I can or should. But you, Father, are the one with the knowledge of these things, not me."

"I am afraid we wander in unmapped territory, son," Elrond replied, as he took another large swallow of the wine. He set the empty glass on the table with deliberate measure, his fingers lingering on the stem, twirling it a half rotation, then leaving it still. He looked again at Elrohir. "I have never tried this particular surgery on a Human before. And the time between the actual injury and when I began work on it was great. All my delicate work might simply have been a useless exercise. I think her only hope is to train the muscles not damaged—in her shoulder and chest—to do some of the work her arm used to do. The telling sign will be if she has feeling in her lower arm and hand when she wakes. If there is none, there is no hope of her taking up her weapons again. Her hand will never work."

"She will get through this, one way or another," Elrohir said, but his face looked as uncertain as his words had sounded.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Jeren woke up slowly, one eye at a time. She had no idea where she was at first. All she knew was that she was no longer with the rangers out in the wild. She was in the softest of beds, with crisp white linen pulled up around her and a fluffy pink blanket on top of that. Her head still hurt where she'd hit it on the rocks when she'd been injured, and her arm was throbbing something fierce. She tried to lift it, to better see the bandage it was wrapped in, but it would not move—the splints that had been used to keep it straight were too heavy.

As she looked around, realization came to her. She was in Rivendell, in the Healing Halls. And as her eyes kept wandering around the room, she soon found herself looking into the gray eyes of one of her favorite people in the world—Lord Elrond.

His smile was beautiful—but then everything about him was beautiful to Jeren. She smiled back.

"Good evening," Elrond said. "Although I suppose I should say good morning. It is beyond midnight, but not quite dawn yet." His eyes turned discerning, as he continued to gaze at her. "How are you feeling?"

"Sleepy, mostly," she said, although Elrond did not fail to notice the sweating brow or the paleness of her face. He knew she was in pain.

"When did I get here and how?" Jeren asked, her voice soft and scratchy from disuse. The Elf lord offered her water, which she gladly accepted.

"Elrohir brought you home yesterday, a bit after midday. Do you remember anything being injured or the ride to get here?"

"Oh yes," she said with emphasis, "I do remember getting this injury." Her eyes glinted with hatred for Orcs in general, and the one who felled her in particular. "The ride, no. I was terribly tired when everything occurred, so I was in and out of sleep—mostly out, I think. The twins were arguing about something—I hope they resolved whatever it was they were out of sorts over; I hate it when they fight."

Elrond's brows rose. "I hate that as well."

"So," Jeren started, "what about my arm? How long until I will be fit to go back to the settlement?"

Elrond had dreaded this question, even though he expected it. "Not for some time, Dear One. That is a nasty break you have there. It will be difficult to mend and twice as difficult to strengthen." He decided to wait until she asked more pointed questions to divulge any more information than this.

"So, more or less," she persisted, "how long do you think?"

He saw he was going to have to tell her more now. He'd wanted to wait a few days, so that she would be stronger and more rested before telling her the bad news about her arm, but it seemed he might not be allowed that privilege. He still aimed to try and keep the worst of this information away from her for now—if she would allow it. He refused to lie to her. That was the easiest way he knew of to lose her trust.

"That is very difficult to say, Jeren," he said. He watched her raise her brows; belatedly he realized he'd used her given name. That tiny slip was probably enough for her to be on her guard, and demand a more thorough explanation.

But instead of pressing, she laid her head more fully into her pillow. She heaved a big sigh.

"You need something for the pain, do you not?" he asked her.

"It's not bad," she lied. The Elf lord could hear the tremor in her voice, showing just how much effort it was taking for her to keep hold of herself through the agony she had to be feeling. And her face was even paler now than before.

"Well, bear with me," he said as he got up from his chair. "I have a tea for you to drink that will help with that pain—you know, the pain that isn't so bad."

She rolled her eyes, looking for all the world like the sixteen-year-old she had been when she'd first come to Imladris. Elrond shook his head and smiled as he left her.

As she lay there waiting for his return, she tried again to lift her arm, to flex her fingers. But she could do neither thing.

Elrond came back in a very few minutes, carrying a small, steaming cup. He helped her sit up, supporting her arm in its splints, keeping it as still has he possibly could. He watched as she swayed where she sat. He pursed his lips as he handed her the cup and helped her to settle it on her lap.

"Careful; it's hot," he said quietly. Jeren was, as ever, humbled by his great care of her, and she marveled at how his love for her even came through in the tone of his voice.

She lifted the cup with her left hand and blew across the surface of the tea, to help cool it faster. She took a small sip, wincing because it was still too hot, so she set the cup back down on her lap.

"My arm won't move, and neither will my hand or—"

"—Don't move that arm," he said forcefully. He softened his voice as he added, "Keep it as still as you possibly can. That bone is going to need much gentleness, especially at first, if it is going to knit correctly."

"But if I didn't see it right here in front of my eyes, I would not even know my hand was there," she said, and he could hear the unease in her voice.

He said nothing, he just looked at her, his expression unreadable.

She raised her brows again, but said nothing else just then, taking another sip of the tea. "So I shouldn't worry that my fingers don't work?" she finally asked, the tremor back in her voice.

"Not tonight, you shouldn't. Drink up, Young One. You need to get back to sleep. Rest is what you need, and plenty of it. There will be time enough to talk about this on the morrow."

As he watched her dutifully drain the cup of tea, which he'd made with enough Valerian and Poppy to keep her asleep until noon, he thought about what he might tell her.

How was he to impart such news to her; that she quite possibly would never be a ranger with the Dúnedain again? How would she react, if the wound went septic and her limb had to be removed after all? He prayed for answers to these questions, for he truly did not know what he was going to say when she asked.

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Jeren surprised everyone and was awake and asking for food early the next morning. That wasn't too surprising, if one took into account that she'd not eaten in more than a day, and a woman of her strength and strong appetite did not take hunger lightly.

Daeron brought her a tray, settling it on her lap. She noted how attentive the Elf was, as he helped her sit up, taking especial care of her injured arm, more so than she would have thought was absolutely necessary.

She was delighted to find not only juice and eggs and sausage, but a sticky bun on the tray as well. She ate the pastry first, as was her habit—she never saved the best for last, she always chose to live right in the moment. Who knew if she'd be alive to savor something if she waited overlong to indulge in it?

But when it came to using the utensils to eat the rest of her meal, she was at a loss. She could of course use the fork, although awkwardly, with her left hand, but to cut the sausage with the knife provided was impossible. So she picked up the large chunk of the link she was brought, and, using her fingers, ate it that way. Not polite, but who was here to see it?

She was just finishing her meal when Elrohir came into the room. She could not help but be painfully aware that all was still not well with him, as it had not been for quite some time. He seemed as if his world was not only in ruins, but that it would never be right again.

"Good morning, Jeren," he said, and although he smiled, Jeren could see his eyes lacked the joy that used to be one of his most shining qualities.

"Good morning," she said as happily as she could; she was still groggy from the tea, as well as Lord Elrond's big dose of healing sleep he'd used before her surgery yesterday. She smiled, hoping to bring Elrohir out of his mood, once and for all.

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "You seem in good spirits this morning."

"I'm happy enough," she replied, "considering I am in a bed with my arm in a splint. Tell me, Elrohir, how was Rhyse when we left the camp? I fell back to sleep and I really must know."

"He was fine," he said. "His injury was minor, considering he was shot with an Orc's arrow." He stole what was left of her sausage, popping it into his mouth. After he'd chewed and swallowed, he continued, "It was a clean hit, through the shoulder. As long as it does not get infected, he should be back on patrol within a month."

Jeren breathed a sigh of relief. That had been her chief worry since she'd awoken this morning—wondering how Rhyse fared.

She smiled. "We're going to be married," she said quietly. When Elrohir did not comment, she went on, "We decided that as soon as this last mission was completed, we'd ask Aragorn to conduct the rites. We'll live in the loft." Her smile beamed again, making her face radiant.

"Congratulations, Jeren," Elrohir said, but he certainly didn't seem very glad about the news. "I'm sure the two of you will be very happy. This turn of events—both your injury and Rhyse's—should not delay your plans much—probably no more than six months."

"Six months?" Jeren asked, frowning. "A broken arm is going to take that long to heal?"

"Surely my father told you already that you have much more than merely a broken arm," he said, looking at her solemnly.

"Well, of course he said it was a bad break and in a troublesome place, but he said nothing about it taking more time than usual to heal."

"I will venture to say that he just hasn't gotten the chance to tell you about it, then," he said, glad that he hadn't spoken more than he should. He hadn't known how much his father had told Jeren yet, so he'd been deliberately careful when he'd been talking to her this morning, for that very reason. "He will be here shortly, to change the dressing on your arm and check for infection."

"Why do you not do it and save him the trouble, Elrohir?"

Elrohir smiled an impish smile, something Jeren had not seen him do in a very long time. "Think you to get me into trouble again? I remember the last time you were here in these self-same Healing Halls, and I was made to do remedial training—very early morning remedial training, if my memory serves me, and it does—and it was because of you I had to do it. No, I think I will leave Father's work alone, and let him tend to you when he arrives and in his own good time."

At that moment, Elrond breezed into the room. "Good morning, all," he announced. "Elrohir, move her tray away, please." He went to some cabinets along one wall, and began opening and closing the cupboard doors, assembling some instruments and other things he would need, placing them into a small container, which he brought to Jeren's bed. He set the little metal bin, which contained a roll of bandage, a knife, some scissors and a small vial of some sort of ointment, onto the bedside table, and then sat himself down beside Jeren. Elrohir had taken her breakfast tray and placed it on the work surface below the cupboards that Elrond had just taken the instruments from, and then made his way back to stand beside the bed.

The Elf lord took Jeren's bandaged and splinted arm into his hands and cut through the first layer of cloth. "Elrohir," he said, "would you take the splints away as soon as I cut this last strip? I want her arm to remain completely still."

After Elrond made the last cut to the bandages with the knife, he held Jeren's injured limb still as Elrohir gently lifted the two narrow planks of wood away, setting them beside the tray he'd moved earlier.

There was still a layer of bandage surrounding the cut on Jeren's upper arm. It was discolored with blood, but was otherwise not remarkable. Elrond used the scissors and cut the bandage, carefully pulling it away from the injury.

Jeren gasped as she saw the wound for the first time. The stitches Elrond had placed into it extended nearly the entire circumference of her arm. Just a small place was unharmed, toward the inside, where it rested against her body. Her arm was swollen to at least twice its normal size and the cut, while not infected, was very red and still oozing blood.

She quickly looked up into Elrond's face. "My arm was almost completely severed!" Her voice was just above a quiet whisper, and her face had taken on an ashen color.

"Yes," he said, still looking into her eyes.

"My lord," she said tentatively, "exactly how bad is this?"

"As I told you last night, Jeren, it's hard to say."

"Please do not try to spare my feelings," she said, her fear rising with every breath. "How bad?"

Instead of answering, he picked a needle up out of the metal container, and began to touch her with its point, starting with just below the stitches. "Tell me if you feel this." He had been barely pressing the needle to her skin, but when she did not respond, he increased his pressure—not enough to break the skin, but enough to be uncomfortable if she had normal feeling in her arm.

She said nothing, she merely shook her head. She could plainly see the needle poking her flesh, but she could feel nothing of it.

He noted her response and moved the needle down an inch, more toward the inside of her arm.

Jeren nodded. "I can feel that faintly."

Elrond smiled. "That is very good," he said, and Jeren could see the relief in his eyes.

He again moved the needle downward, several inches this time, probably halfway between her elbow and wrist, and then looked up into her face to get her response.

She said nothing; she bit her bottom lip and shook her head.

Again, he moved it, this time parallel to where it had just rested, but more toward the inside of her arm. Again, Jeren nodded. It seemed as if she could feel sensation where the Orc's blade had not cut through the flesh of her arm.

The next place he touched with the sharp point was the palm of her hand.

"I barely feel that," she said, "but I can feel it."

He moved the needle to touch the tip of her smallest finger, and she shook her head. She could not feel it. He did the same for the next one and she answered the same. Jeren watched him tighten his jaw, very afraid for him to move the pin to the tallest finger of her hand. But he did, and she closed her eyes with relief. She felt it! She nodded her head.

He repeated the procedure for her last finger as well as her thumb, and she had feeling in both. Sitting back, he was ready to answer her question, as well as he could answer it for now.

"It seems as if you do have some feeling in your arm and hand," he said precisely, "and that is a very good sign. But much of your arm has no sensation, and I cannot predict when, if ever, the feeling will return. If it does not, you will have very little use of this limb. Having your thumb and two fingers with sensation is again a very good indicator that all the nerves are not destroyed. But whether you will ever be able to make your fingers open and close to grasp something? I cannot tell. I expect there to be more improvement, but I cannot say just how far that will take you. Mostly it will have to do with you, and how much you are willing to work."

She relaxed back on the bed, but he could see she was not relaxed in spirit. If it were possible, she was even more tense.

"What am I going to do?" she asked, more to herself than to anyone in the room.

Elrohir sat on the other side of the bed and took her good left hand into his two.

"You are going to fight and work until you have no more fight left in you, that's what you are going to do," he said directly. "This does not have to defeat you, Jeren. It will, only if you allow it to."

But Jeren did not acknowledge his words, nor did she even look at him. She turned her eyes toward the window, looking at nothing, and wondering just what sort of life she would now have.

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It was mid afternoon, and her midday tray had already been brought and had been taken away, with precious little eaten from it. She should be asleep, but sleep would not come. She'd done nothing but worry since this morning, when she'd realized just how devastating her injury was.

"This does not have to defeat you."

Elrohir's words echoed in Jeren's mind, and she wondered just how much truth was in them. Did he truly believe what he'd said, or was it just some strategy he was using to bolster her spirits?

She suddenly remembered similar words, said to her another time when she thought all was lost. As she was enduring the attack of the Orcs, back when she was sixteen, her mother had said things along the same vein. Jeren still did not know if it had been a trick of the mind, or if her mother—three years in the grave at the time—had truly come to help her then—to withstand the brutal attack until she was either dead or the vicious beasts finally left her alone.

'Do not give up or give in. These nasty animals cannot take the most important part of you. They cannot take your heart, unless you allow them to. You can handle this; I know you can.' These were the words her mother had said, as she'd rocked Jeren in her lap in the dirt of the yard.

Jeren grimaced, remembering. She didn't often think back to that day. But this afternoon, as she lay here alone in the Healing Halls of Imladris, her mother's words—and Elrohir's—kept repeating over and over in her mind.

She'd fought hard to get her life back after Orcs had beaten and tortured her years ago. It had not been easy. Her injuries—both mental and physical—had been severe. Lord Elrond had mended her physical hurts, and likewise her mental ones. They had gone to the quiet room that the Elf lord set aside specifically for his mind healing work and had spent many hours there.

She remembered every detail of the work they'd done; the tears—the fear—everything she'd had to endure in order that her mind would be whole again. She remembered the pain she could see in Lord Elrond's eyes as he forced her again and again to remember the details of that horrifying day; how he'd made her say the word Orcs—over and over—something she had been unable to do at first. She had ultimately gained victory over the atrocious abuse with his help.

Yes, she'd overcome all her hurts, mentally and physically, except for one. Lord Elrond had told her, perhaps a year after the Orc attack, that even though she was now cured of all infection and pain, her chances of becoming a mother were slim. She smiled joylessly as she remembered that conversation.

"Dear One," he'd said, "I have some bad news for you. I truthfully should have told you this prior to now, but I did not have the heart. I could not have made it through this speech before, without sorrow stealing my words. I may not be able to now."

Jeren remembered being very afraid of what the Elf lord might say, but she allowed him to continue. He'd seemed so solemn and bereft.

"It will more than likely be impossible for you to become a mother." Jeren remembered being shocked by his words; she could even remember the burn on the skin of her face as she blushed over the intimate subject. Yes, she was shocked, but pleasantly surprised. In the grand scheme of things, this was not something she thought to ever worry about.

Her jaw had dropped open in surprise, but Lord Elrond had hurried on with his words, probably fearing he'd not be able to complete them if she interrupted. "I am sorry, Jeren. You might possibly be able to conceive, but your body is damaged—it is unlikely you will be able to hold a child within long enough for it to be born alive."

Jeren remembered how she'd taken the Elf lord's hands into hers, wanting to reassure him. "My lord, I know you did all that you that you could to heal me. This isn't such bad news. I am a warrior, Lord Elrond, not a mother. I would never wish to conceive anyway."

She remembered that he had told her she would probably change her mind someday.

And now that someday had come…

Here she was at twenty-six, felled by an injury that more than likely would put an end to her life as a ranger, and this years-old conversation had come to mind.

Ever since Elen had given birth to little Charlie, Jeren had felt maternal stirrings. She'd tried to stifle them—put them out of her heart—because she knew motherhood was not an option for her—not since the Orcs…

And it hadn't mattered, at least that is what she had been telling herself. But now she was injured, and it looked as if she'd no longer wield weapons. So what was left? She could not even fulfill one of the most basic functions of being a woman.

She was no good for weapons or rangering; and no good as a mother.

Just what good was she for anything?

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**A/N: As I note with most of my stories, I am no medical expert and am not trying to be. I have no idea exactly how nerves or bones would react with an injury such as Jeren's. So I am using whatever common sense I might possess, as well as knowledge gained from any medical shows I might have ever watched, and Elrond's treatment and her reactions are the result.**

**I'd again like to thank every reviewer. You have no idea how much it helps to have your words of encouragement.**


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

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"Young One, it is your turn," Elrond said patiently.

Startled, Jeren glanced at him, and then looked at the chessboard on the table between them. "Already? But I just moved."

"I've put your Queen in much peril," he said, knowing that she'd not been paying attention for most of the chess match this morning.

She studied the board, uncertain as to how to get out of the mess the Elf lord had put her in. On the best days, she usually came out on the losing end of a game of chess with him, even when she'd been paying attention to the game.

"If you wish not to play, I'm sure we can find something else to otherwise occupy our time," he said, but the look on his face told Jeren that she wouldn't like what he had in mind.

"My lord," she said, trying to take the petulance out of her tone, "it is no use. I have tried repeatedly to move these wretched fingers of mine. They will not. I've accepted it; I certainly wish that you would."

"Of course I will not accept it," he said, his voice clearly that of a frustrated parent. "For one thing, it is still much too early for you to give up on this. You've only been out of the splints for a week, and furthermore, I know that you have not tried your best to move them as many times as I want you to try."

Jeren said nothing more, she just sat back in her chair and gazed out over the valley of Rivendell. They were sitting at the table on the veranda outside her room. She'd been allowed to move back here as soon as the stitches had been removed from the wound that circled her arm. Even though she'd been back in her room for some time, up until two weeks ago she'd been confined to her bed. And finally last week, the Elf lord had removed the splints and bandages holding her arm straight. She was finally able to be up and around full time.

Elrond had removed the splints three times a day, every day, starting two weeks after the surgery, in order that she exercise her arm and hand. At first, it was he who put her through the paces, but after awhile, it was Daeron. He would remove the splints, and then hold the hand of the injured arm in his two hands, bending and flexing her fingers, as well as her wrist, over and over again. In the first weeks, while the bone in her arm mended, this would be the extent of the exercises. But four weeks into her recovery, he'd begun bending her arm at the elbow repeatedly, as well as lifting her entire arm several times. He'd cut the sessions from three per day to only one, but still, it took more than an hour to complete all the exercises, an hour that had thus far proved fruitless. At first she tried to do the exercises herself between sessions, but quickly lost interest. She wanted to do all that Lord Elrond asked, but she could not make her hand move at all, and that left her feeling so bereft she no longer even tried on her own.

After several moments of her silence, he asked her, "What so catches your interest outside, Young One?" He craned his neck to see the valley from the angle she was seeing it. "You spend quite a lot of your time inspecting the view."

Without looking at him she said, "Did you know that on yonder hillside, there are one hundred and seven boulders in a step formation down into the valley?"

"As a matter of fact, I did know those steps existed," Elrond informed her. "I have never stopped to count them, and I am surprised it is something you would have noted. They were purposely positioned in such a way as to lessen their being noticed. When we were building here, we needed a way down into the valley and then back up the incline. Those are definitely steps, although from here you cannot see that they are flat on top. But they are." He chuckled slightly, a vague frown furrowing his brow. "You have indeed been studying the scenery."

She'd been observing the vista of Imladris quite a bit since her injury, Elrond lamented to himself. She was definitely not the same energetic woman she had been before she'd been hurt. He had noticed immediately, when she'd opened her eyes after the surgery weeks ago, that she was not herself. At first he had thought that, being wounded, she had merely been in shock, and that had been the cause of her melancholy. She'd been different—subdued—even before she had been made aware of how badly she'd been hurt. And now the fact that her arm still wasn't responding after six weeks of working at it, truly had Jeren in one of the lowest moods he'd ever seen her in, yet he knew there was more to it than that.

"What has you so blue, Dear One?" he asked her quietly.

She looked at him with disbelieving eyes—surely he did not wonder at why she was in the deepest throes of despair.

"I knew there was something amiss with you the minute you woke up after the surgery I performed on your arm. I thought at first it was simply the insult that had been dealt your body that had your spirits low, since at that time you did not know how severe your impairment would be. So I know that is not the sole cause of your sadness now. You were unhappy even before you were injured, I think."

Not for the first time did Jeren wonder at the mystery of Elves. She had tried over and over to get Haleth's death out of her mind, but had so far not been able to accomplish it. That Elrond had known something was bothering her the very first time she'd been awake after having been brought to Rivendell shouldn't have surprised her. But it did.

"Have you been talking to Elrohir?" she asked him vaguely as she continued to look out toward the cliffs surrounding Imladris.

"I have," he replied. "He mentioned a young woman named Haleth, and I was wondering if perhaps your mourning for her is the reason you are only making half an effort to work at the tasks I give you for your recovery."

"Why would I mourn her, my lord?" Jeren asked him, finally looking at him. She had asked herself this same question a million times. "I barely knew her."

"Yes, you barely knew her, but you knew her circumstances intimately, from what Elrohir told me."

"Elrohir talks too much," Jeren said flatly, glancing back outside.

"I would have agreed, last year at this time, but now? No, I wouldn't say that about him at all at present. It surprises me that you would make such a comment, Jeren. It proves to me that you are only visiting in our world occasionally, not actually living in it."

She looked at him then, finally realizing what he was referring to. "Oh Elrohir, yes. I have been meaning to speak with you about him for some time, but I seem to have become immersed in my own troubles."

"You have every right to be, Dear One," he said. "But not at the expense of your recuperation. No one could be experiencing what you are going through and not be frustrated and angry. But you are neither of those things. You are sullen and withdrawn."

She sat up straighter, becoming engaged in their conversation at last. "I am sorry about that. Truly I am, but I seem not to have much control over it. And Elrohir… I cannot believe I've gone so long without speaking to you about him. I am closer to him than I am to almost anyone else, and he is in the midst of some sort of personal crisis, and there seems to be nothing I can do to help him. He only ever tells me 'all is well' or 'you imagine these things'. He will not open up to me. I've tried several times—when I see him at all—and he never tells me anything of import concerning what is bothering him. After all the ways he's helped me, now I am of no use to him."

"Never say that, Young One," Elrond admonished. "I know that is not how he feels."

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Elrond wondered what would be the best way to break into the shell Jeren had erected around her heart. He decided that if he made her think of something other than that which preoccupied her most of the time, she might be easier to reach. He hoped to then return to the subject of Haleth, and perhaps Jeren would be more open to exploring why the young woman's death was affecting her so profoundly.

"Elrohir is the reason you have an arm still hanging from your shoulder; were you aware of that?"

Jeren looked at him, surprised. "No, I was not."

"When he got here with you, he had to convince me to keep your arm. Many hours had passed since you were dealt the wound and, in surgery of the type I did, time is of the essence. I believe now that is why it is so slow to respond; why your arm might never heal entirely. For one thing, you are Human, and I've only ever attempted this type of thing on Elves. They respond readily to this treatment, as long as they are brought to me quickly. You are very lucky my son took your cause, or you would not even have the hope of trying to learn to use your arm again now. It would be gone. No healer, be they Human or Elfkind, would have even tried to save it—except me, apparently—but only at his behest."

Jeren looked at her arm, thinking about the stitches that had almost completely encircled it. They'd long since been removed, but the pain still nagged her where the bone had been broken. The limb hung at her side most of the time, unless she used her left hand to place her right hand into her lap. It was all but lifeless.

She wondered if she might not have been better off without it. At least Lord Elrond would not be badgering her several times a day to exercise it—fruitlessly. She had not been able to move it thus far. Maybe slightly at the shoulder, but that was all.

Yet she was glad it was not gone. Enduring the stares of others as they gaped at a one-armed woman was not something she relished thinking about. Now she'd learned that she had Elrohir to thank for it. She would have had no arm at all, had he not intervened with his father. Elrohir always surprised her, one way or another.

"Have you spoken to him, Lord Elrond?" she asked. "About what has him in such a mood all the time?"

"Not seriously, I haven't," he replied. "Given the right opportunity I will, however; have no fear." He picked a pawn up from the chessboard and turned it over in his long fingers. "But you might as well not try deflecting me from the subject we were speaking about. We have wandered far from the original point of our discussion." He looked at her out of the corners of his eyes, one brow raised.

She slumped back into her chair again. "I know not what to tell you about Haleth, my lord," she admitted. "I knew her so briefly—just long enough to feel responsible for her—and then she killed herself. Just like that. One day she was there and the next, she wasn't."

"I've always wondered at Humans' susceptibility to ending their lives when trouble besets them. Most Elves believe that, given time, the majority of problems do resolve themselves, one way or another."

"I suppose Elves might have the time to wait," Jeren said with an edge to her voice.

He ignored her pique, merely glad she was showing some emotion other than the usual indifference that colored her tone these days. "I think it might be the circumstances into which you entered Haleth's life that truly have you heartsick," he told her. "She was attacked by Orcs, brutalized and beaten, just as you were. Certainly you see the comparison?"

Jeren nodded, looking down at the chessboard for a moment, but then she looked up at him again, frowning, and her voice erupted in frustration. "But why did she have to do that?" Her eyes were clouded with emotion—anger, hurt—it was hard to tell which—and her voice shook as if tears were close to the surface.

"I was overrun by the brutes when I was alone—the terror was unimaginable! I fought them off all by myself—even though I was injured—until I could fight no longer. And I did not have the good fortune Haleth did, to swoon during my attack. I was awake and aware to experience their brutality!" She stopped momentarily, trying to calm herself. When she spoke again, it was in a much quieter tone. "I realize I was not totally alone after it happened to me. My father was alive, such as he was, but I did not know the twins—or you—until after I was rescued. Just as Haleth knew no one. But I was willing to help her. I wanted to—so desperately. Elrohir tried. And Elen—she was as saddened over Haleth's death as I was. So many people were there for her, but she would not allow us in. She turned her back on us."

Elrond sat quietly for a moment, letting Jeren calm down some more. "There is a comparison between what happened to Haleth and what happened to you, yes," he said soothingly. "But there are also large differences. Her entire family was killed right in front of her; and she had no other family on which to lean. True, if she would have allowed you to, you would have aided her as long as she needed the help. But I think this tragedy broke her in the deepest sense. She was unable to reach out."

Jeren looked at him, her mouth set in a way that told him she was about to raise her voice in anger again, but Elrond did not give her a chance to speak. "I am not making excuses for what she did," he said. "I am only trying to get you to see that her killing herself was in no way _your_ fault. There are likenesses between two young girls' lives, but very big differences as well. As you said, you had others around you, but—_but_—you allowed them to help you. She did not, for whatever reason.

"I believe she could not accept help, probably because she'd witnessed what you did not—the demise, at the Orcs' hands, of her mother and father—and even her younger brother. So while your circumstances seem similar, they were vastly different. I just want to emphasize this point once more, because I think it is part of the difficulty you are having: You are not responsible for Haleth committing the ultimate crime one can commit against oneself.

"Then why do I feel so badly about her?" Jeren asked bitterly. "I cannot get her out of my mind. Her face haunts me."

"I think it is the common ground that you both tread. Have you or have you not recently thought more about the attack the Orcs made against you than you have since it happened? I can answer that for myself," he said, "given your words of just moments ago. It is quite raw in your memory still."

"There are so many things tied up in my feelings about Haleth, my lord," Jeren said, her voice taking on the familiar flat tone of late. "Yes, I have been thinking about what the Orcs did to me when I was sixteen, but not only because of Haleth. Also because of this latest injury I have at their hands. I—"

Jeren stopped of a sudden, unable to continue.

"Go on," Elrond prodded gently.

When she finally spoke, her voice took on a desperate tone. "I am afraid. So dreadfully afraid."

"Of what, Dear One?" the Elf lord asked with such sincerity, it made Jeren feel almost embraced by him, even though he sat across the table from her. "What do you fear?"

"I am alone—"

"—you will _never_ be alone, not as long as I am alive and dwelling within these shores," he said. "Do you not believe me when I say you are as my daughter; that you will always have a home here? I mean it with every fiber of my being."

Tears had begun to silently trail down Jeren's cheeks. "I do believe it, my lord," she said, and her voice caught on a sob before she could continue. "I meant that I have no true family on which to lean, and in all likelihood, I will be unable to fend for myself in the future. I will have to live by others' charity. And I will be truly alone in the deepest way, since I can never have children of my own—"

Elrond reached across the table and took her left hand in his, squeezing it slightly.

"I am not explaining this well," Jeren said, as she slipped her hand from his and dried her eyes with her fingers.

"You are speaking eloquently. I think you do not give yourself enough credit, Young One," Elrond told her. "There is something very basic about one's family. It is at the core of who you are—where you come from. Of course I know exactly what you mean.

"But then again, Haleth comes to mind. She, too, felt as alone as you do now—maybe more so. You have your Aunt Elen, which isn't the same thing as having your own mother, but she's wonderful is she not?"

Jeren smiled and nodded, thinking about Elen and her family.

"Had Haleth had the will and heart to give herself the time she needed to heal, she would have also found the people around her who cared, even though they were not, nor would they ever be, her true family. But in the few bleak hours she remained with you, she could not see those that were there willing to help. All she allowed herself to see was the void—the 'nothing', the emptiness that she feared, as you fear it. Only you truly have no void in your life.

"You've told me about Rhyse, and how you are to be wed. Do not count him out as family for you. And I believe that my sons would be hurt to hear you speak in this way. They both care for you a great deal. As do I… You can rest assured that none of us will desert you. And you can still be productive in many ways, even if you were never able to move your arm again."

He placed the pawn back onto the chessboard as he considered his next words.

"I think what you also fear is being unable to use your weapons, thus making it mandatory that you give up your star*. But it is far too premature to make any such determination yet."

His lips tightened as he debated about whether to broach the subject she'd brought up herself, but that he'd avoided until now.

"I was afraid this day would come." He looked into her eyes, wet with tears. "You fear your rangering days are over, and you know not what will take the place of the weapons which you've loved wielding. You are to be married soon, and for most brides, that would mean children would follow. But probably not for you."

"I remember telling you I did not care if I never had a child," Jeren said, her tears subsiding. "But after Elen gave birth to little Charlie—holding his tiny body brought up yearnings in me I did not know were there. And now, he walks on his own two feet and speaks his baby speech and laughs his sweet little laugh. It truly hurts that I will never give birth to a child and rejoice in these little things. So many small things…"

Elrond smiled as if he reminisced about those same milestones of his own children. He continued to sit silently for a few moments longer, glad that Jeren was venting her cares, at least a little. He hoped it would go some distance in lifting this melancholy that had been weighing her down for the past several weeks.

But he had more to say to her, things she needed to hear.

"You could prove me wrong, and have a child of your own someday. I am a healer, yes, but I do not know all things. I believe having your own child would be a long path, should you choose to take it, probably fraught with much heartache. Losing children not yet born is as hard as losing those already of this world. But you might be able to accomplish bringing one forth that would live and thrive. I did not believe before that you could be still long enough to lie abed for the many months it would take to accomplish that end, but you have certainly been still for these past several weeks, so we know that is an attainable goal. And you have already achieved much in your young life that most would not have believed possible.

"You have had much time to dwell on your situation, as it now stands, but no one truly knows yet what exactly the future will hold for you, especially as concerns this current injury you have. Enough time has not passed for your arm to be much healed. The bone does seem knitted, although you must still be cautious of it for the time being.

"I do not want to give you false hope, Dear One, but you act as if there is no hope, and I certainly do not see the situation through those eyes. The only way you will ever know if your hand and arm will function is to work at it—over and over again, until you are sick of working at it. But I have had a difficult time even convincing you to try at all."

He took a deep breath, plunging into the speech he knew she needed, but that would be hard for her to hear. She had not been doing her best when it came to rehabilitating her arm. They debated between them on a regular basis whether she did the exercises consistently, but when she did do them in his presence, he could tell her heart wasn't in it.

"The Jeren I've always known would not have sat quietly with this injury you have been dealt, letting it steal even a day of her life. You have been dwelling on Haleth, and you have also been thinking of all the things that could go wrong in your recovery, instead of working to make your arm right again—or as right as it will ever be. The time has come for you to shore up your flagging spirit and get on with it, do you not think?"

He set his jaw in a determined way, and Jeren knew she was about to be made to do those exercises he insisted that she do. She nodded slightly.

He laid both of his hands on the table, palms up, alongside the chessboard, in silent command that she place her injured arm into them. Jeren frowned, but did what he wanted. She knew there was no sense in fighting him. But she also knew the results would be the same as they always were.

After he manipulated her fingers and hand for almost a quarter of an hour, flexing and unflexing them himself, he then did the same with her elbow and then her shoulder, lifting her arm and bringing it back down, over and over again. He was now standing beside her, one hand at her elbow and the other on her shoulder.

Try to lift your arm," he urged, his hands still in place. Jeren rolled her eyes, but gritted her teeth and tried to do as he asked.

"Use this muscle," he said, patting her back right at her shoulder blade.

She tried again, harder this time, and succeeded in lifting her arm several inches.

"Very good," he said. "I knew you could do it." He went back to his chair and sat. "And you can roll your eyes at me forever, and it will not daunt me from my task."

Jeren had the grace to blush at being caught in such a childish action.

He extended his hands onto the table again, beside the chessboard, and Jeren again placed her injured arm into his upturned palms.

"Try to flex your fingers," he said gently, and then he closed his eyes, in apparent concentration.

Jeren focused, too, trying to get those fingers to move, but nothing happened. She looked up at him, but Elrond did not open his eyes. He bowed his head somewhat lower over her arm, and said, "Again."

So Jeren tried again, and to her surprise, her index finger, as well as her thumb, moved just the slightest bit. Her joy was short-lived, though, when she realized the Elf lord was using some of his Elven healing on her.

When he opened his eyes, his smile spread across his face.

Jeren, however, kept her same neutral expression. "So, are you going to hold my hand from now on and make things happen that wouldn't have, had you not interfered?"

The look he gave her made her cringe. "No, I have no intention of forever holding your hand, Jeren." He let go of her and stood. "I have better things to do other than coddle you. But the fact that you moved those fingers at all—with or without my _interference_—should show you that you are capable of moving them on your own. If the nerves and muscles were not repairing themselves over time—as I am convinced they are doing—any movement, whether I was helping or not, would not have been possible. Now continue the exercises or don't. I needs get on with my day."

Elrond left the room, and Jeren sighed, leaning back in her chair. She supposed she really should be doing as he asked, but she didn't have the heart.

Maybe later…

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

As the Elf lord strode down the hallway after leaving Jeren, he was deep in thought. _What to do about her? _

Her growing apathy about life in general had been concerning him for weeks. All she seemed to be interested in was the scenery outside her veranda, although she had responded to his queries about Haleth today.

Yes, she'd run the gamut of feelings this morning. She'd displayed all manner of emotions but one—joy. Anger, hurt, fear—they'd all been present. But he knew the small bit of counsel he'd given her would not go far in changing her mood.

She needed a jolt, someone to jerk her out of this lethargy and into the present world. Elrohir was being little help. His demeanor and mood were foul most of the time, and when he wasn't behaving churlishly, he was withdrawn. The two of them seemed almost cut from the same cloth at the present.

_Glorfindel_.

Now there was an idea worth investigating. His old friend would not embrace the notion of taking on the task that Jeren was presenting, but where Jeren was concerned, Elrond was not above pulling rank. She needed someone harsh and abrasive to shock her back into reality, and Glorfindel could use those traits extensively when he so chose. This shell she presented to the world right now was not her true self.

The movement of her finger this morning truly indicated to him that she was mending, whether she believed it or not, but in that simple concept lay the key to the problem: She did not believe she would ever recover. And if she did not begin trying in earnest to move her arm and hand, the time would come when the muscles would atrophy from disuse. He did not want that to happen. Not in someone so young and vibrant as Jeren. Well, as vibrant as he knew she could be.

Elrond nodded as he thought. Yes. Glorfindel. That was the answer.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren was still in her room, where Elrond had left her, at midafternoon. Daeron had come and gone with her midday tray, which was the routine they'd grown accustomed to. Elrond wanted her in the dining hall for all meals, but she pleaded that she was still learning to use her eating utensils with her left hand, and it was embarrassing to have to enlist someone to cut her meat for her. He acquiesced for luncheon, but would not budge for their morning or evening meals, when he insisted she join him at the table with the others of their household.

She had gotten up once since Lord Elrond had gone—to retrieve a book from the library. It was one of the few written in Westron that she could actually find. _War Tactics_ was its title, written by a Captain Thorongil. She was fascinated by the book, which surprised her. Nothing had caught her interest since she'd been back in Imladris, and the last thing she thought might arouse her curiosity would be a dry text on war. She was completely absorbed in it when there came a knock at her door. Barely registering the intrusion, she mumbled, "Come in."

She was looking for a place to stop reading, aware that whomever it was had walked over to her and was standing next to her. Thinking it was Elrohir or Daeron, she finished the page. When she looked up, she was astounded.

"Rhyse!" she all but shouted, bounding out of her seat and embracing him soundly with her one good arm. She stood back, and looked at him, and he laughed that wonderful deep laugh that she loved so much.

He kissed her long and slow, and she melted in his arms.

"How likely is it that we'll be disturbed?" he asked her.

She smiled her most seductive smile. "Not likely at all."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

*The Dúnedain Rangers all wore silver, star-shaped broaches as cloak pins.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren touched the puckered scar on Rhyse's shoulder where the Orc's arrow had pierced it. He was lying on his side facing her, and she was nestled in the crook of his arm, both of them quiet and replete after spending the past few hours in her bed. The sun was beginning to set, making her walls seem to glow a warm orange.

"Does it still bother you?" she asked him as her fingertip lingered on the place where the arrow had come through his skin. She shuddered slightly as she remembered how terrified she'd been as she'd watched his face after he'd been wounded.

"Only a little—when I try to extend my bowstring completely. I can't shoot worth a darn right now. I have no trouble with the sword, since I am right-handed, although I still tire more easily than I should. I hoped I'd be back on patrol by now, but Lord Marach says that I lost a good amount of blood, and that is what is causing me to flag; and hurrying through recovery only extends the healing time, according to our good healer."

She knew the exact moment that he saw where she'd been wounded. His eyes grew large and his jaw dropped. He gingerly circled her arm with his large hand, where the thin red line ran around it.

"Now I know why the twins were arguing so heatedly, just before Elrohir left with you," he said. "I knew you'd taken a blade in the arm, but I hadn't known how extensive the wound was until now. I was more than half drunk from the brandy they gave me to kill the pain, so I couldn't make much sense out of what they were saying at the time. Now it is all too apparent what they were arguing about." He lifted her limb at the elbow, bringing it a few inches from the surface of the bed. He let it drop gently back onto the mattress, and then looked at her.

"You can't move it, can you?"

She shook her head, unable to meet his eyes.

"I thought something was different about you, although truthfully, I hadn't noticed until now exactly what it was; I have been otherwise occupied." He kissed her lightly on the nose.

She ignored his comment, and said, "I heard the twins arguing before I completely lost consciousness. What exactly was said?"

"Aragorn and Elladan wanted to take you back to the settlement, so that Lord Marach could—" He paused for a moment, tracing the scar that ringed her arm with his fingers, but then went on, "you know. But Elrohir wouldn't hear of it so they had words. It wasn't much of an argument. Elrohir had already made up his mind and there was no changing it."

Jeren nodded, but didn't say anything. Lord Elrond had told her that he'd reattached her arm against his better judgment at the time, but now she had confirmation that it had been solely Elrohir's idea that he bring her back to Imladris so that his father could hopefully work one of his miracles on her. Elladan as well as Aragorn had been opposed to what they considered to be one of Elrohir's misbegotten plans. All the odds had been against him, but Elrohir had done this for her. She would have to remember to thank him for being a champion to her cause.

She still wondered sometimes if his decision had been the right one, but when she thought about going through life with only one arm, having people gawk at her wherever she went, she knew in her heart that Elrohir's action was exactly what she would have chosen, had she been conscious to make the choice for herself.

"So since you can't move it, the surgery wasn't a success?" Rhyse asked tentatively.

"I think not," she replied, "but Lord Elrond is slow to give up on it. I did move one of my fingers this morning, and that gave him hope."

Rhyse raised his brows, but didn't respond at first.

After a few moments, he said, "Worry not, you will take up your weapons again soon; I don't doubt it."

Jeren wanted to tell him that she feared he was holding false hope, but instead of replying to him, she got up and put on a robe she retrieved from the foot of her bed.

"We needs get ready for the evening meal. Lord Elrond will be expecting us."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

As Jeren sat down at the table, with Rhyse beside her, she dreaded the coming meal. It was one thing having those familiar with her situation there to watch her painstakingly try to eat with her left hand. But to have Rhyse there to witness it? He was a fellow ranger—and she'd tried extremely hard to show no weakness to any of them, not even him. She could feel her face redden as Rhyse pulled out a chair for her, and then helped her scoot it in close enough so that she could reach her plate. Seating herself at the table was something she could not do at present, at least not easily, without much noise and effort. She'd begun to curse the heavy, ornate oaken chairs they were seated in at every meal.

And then she was going to have to actually eat. Her fact grew hotter, as she spied a beautiful pork roast on the table. Someone would have to cut her portion up into bite-sized pieces before she could even think of eating it. She glanced at Lord Elrond, and he nodded just the slightest bit, trying to put her at ease. _Why __couldn__'__t __the __main __course __have __been __fish?_

The Elf lord was seated at the head of the table, Jeren just to his left. As people were filling their plates, Elrond passed one to Jeren, with food heaped upon it. And the roast was already cut up for her. She smiled and thanked him quietly, as he placed the plate in front of her.

Everyone was there, including Elladan—he'd evidently ridden to Rivendell with Rhyse. Since the man wasn't completely back to fighting form, he would have been extremely vulnerable in the wild by himself.

Elrond greeted Rhyse cordially, not commenting on the slight Rhyse had committed by not presenting himself to the Lord of Imladris directly upon his arrival. Jeren's room had evidently been his first stop when he'd gotten to Rivendell. The Elf lord told Rhyse that he hoped his travels had been uneventful.

There was a lull in the conversation, so Elladan said to Jeren, "You certainly look a great deal better than you did the last time I saw you."

Jeren smiled, but continued to eat her meal.

Undaunted, Elladan asked, "Well, how is it?" He looked toward her injured arm, and then back to her face.

"It's there," was all she could say, and although she could hear no difference in her usual tone, Elladan must have detected some change with her usual voice. He did not need someone else to tell him she was unhappy, and he thought he knew why.

Elladan raised his brows and looked at Elrohir, his expression seeming to shout, 'I told you so, Brother.'

Elrohir did not react, but Jeren saw the opportunity she'd been waiting for.

"I understand I have you to thank that I have this arm at all," she said to Elrohir, "and I do thank you sincerely. I very much would not have wanted to face the world with only one arm." She hoped she was conveying just how heartfelt her words were.

"You would have done the same for me, had our positions been reversed," he said, and his smile, genuine for once in a very long time, touched her heart. If only the 'old' Elrohir were back to stay. But even as she thought that, she could see his expression close down once again.

"How long will it be before Jeren is fit to return to the settlement?" Rhyse directed at Elrond.

Elrond frowned as he considered his answer. "She could go right now, but I think it would benefit her if she stayed here to further rehabilitate her arm."

"So you do believe it can be restored to its former usefulness?"

"I think, if she works at it, much of the original function could return," Elrond said.

"If she works at it?" Rhyse asked, clearly not sure he understood what Elrond meant.

"Trying repeatedly—countless repetitions, mind you—to make her arm and hand move is what is going to make the difference, but even still, she is learning to use her left hand for various tasks. Sometimes, if one is determined enough, one can learn to do many things with a non-dominant hand, just as well as they ever did with their dominant one. She has already taught herself to use eating utensils to a great extent. I hope she begins trying to write using her left hand soon." The whole time he was speaking, Elrond was looking directly at Jeren, as if trying to get her to see all was not lost, even if she never moved her right hand again.

"Could we change the subject, please?" Jeren asked, embarrassed by all the attention.

Glorfindel interrupted the awkward pause that followed, asking Elladan, "How is Estel these days?"

As Elladan answered, Jeren breathed a sigh of relief. All this talk about what could or could not be did not impress her. And truthfully, she was beginning to see the writing on the wall: Her right arm was useless. She would never draw a bow again. And learning the sword in the first place had been difficult enough; she would never be able to simply switch hands and be able to handle a blade efficiently. No, all she knew was what was—she could no longer use her hand or arm—and no amount of wishful thinking on Lord Elrond's part was going to change that.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The next few days went by quickly. Rhyse was with Jeren almost constantly. However, Elrond frowned on their suggested sleeping arrangements, giving Rhyse a room down at the far end of the hall, one from which Rhyse would have to walk directly past Elrond's door to reach Jeren. And they all knew how acute Elrond's Elven hearing was. So, except for the nights, they were together almost all the time.

Early one morning, four days after Rhyse's arrival, they met in the dining hall for the morning meal. After they had finished eating, Rhyse suggested, "Let's go riding."

"I can't," was Jeren's automatic response. It seemed to Rhyse she said that phrase more and more with each passing day.

"Do you think Two isn't well-mannered enough that you could manage her with only one hand?"

"Two's not here, Rhyse," she said almost with relief, since she didn't want to go riding in the first place. "I came on Elrohir's horse, remember?"

"Well, let's go riding anyway," he said, grabbing her good hand and practically dragging her out to the stables. Laughing, he told her to close her eyes and not open them until he told her to. He then led her inside and when he had her exactly where he wanted her to be, he said, "All right. You may open them now."

And there was Two, standing in one of the stalls.

"I brought her with me!" he said excitedly. "I knew you'd want her here for your return to the settlement."

Jeren buried her face in Two's neck, so glad to see her constant companion when she was out on patrol. Two was excited to see Jeren as well, prancing in place and then nickering several times.

After a few moments, Jeren lifted her face, smiling. "Thank you, Rhyse. Seeing her makes me happy." She wanted to tell him that seeing Two again gave her hope for her future—but she couldn't because it didn't. She was sure by now that her apprehension was probably showing through to Rhyse. She'd been fearless as a ranger, and something as basic as sitting a horse should not be throwing her into a panic now.

"I have doubts I should be doing this, Rhyse," Jeren said, hoping her fear was not apparent in her voice. "I've only one arm to control her with. As sweet a mare as she is, she's still a spirited animal."

"We'll ride double," he said, but noting her dubious expression, he added, "I will not let you fall."

Jeren bit her bottom lip, hoping to avoid riding, but seeing no way out. She decided to try one more tactic. "I should probably ask Lord Elrond first. After all, he is my healer."

"And a mother hen, no doubt, since that is the nature of healers," Rhyse said, smiling. "Come on, Jeren; where's your adventurous spirit?"

Jeren smiled, still not wanting to ride, but hesitating to disappoint Rhyse again. Her mood had not changed much since his arrival, and she knew that her dispirited manner was beginning to frustrate him. He'd suggested a few different activities during the past few days, and she'd always begged out of them. She knew she was testing his patience.

So while Rhyse found a bridle to put on Two, Jeren fed the mare an apple from a bin that was kept in the stable just for giving treats to the horses. Rhyse then helped her onto Two's back and then leapt up behind her. He turned the mare toward the door, and as soon as they'd cleared it, he kicked Two up into a canter.

When they were out in the open, he urged the horse to go faster. Jeren felt anxious as they rode headlong across the fields. Imagine; Jeren, daughter of Anardil, the first and only female Ranger of the Dúnedain, was afraid to ride. She wanted to weep with the indignity of it all, but she held onto Rhyse's arm with her left hand as hard as she could, keeping her legs as securely around Two's middle as possible. At one point, Rhyse slowed and pried her fingers away. "You're cutting off the blood in my arm!" he said, laughing, and then he nudged Two back into a gallop. Jeren closed her eyes, hoping that would make her feel somewhat less vulnerable, but quickly opened them again. That strategy was not working.

Before they'd gone much farther, Elrohir suddenly appeared, riding beside them. Rhyse pulled in on the reins, but they did not stop until Elrohir grabbed the cheekpiece of Two's bridle, bringing them to a complete halt, and he was very unhappy.

"What do you think you are doing?" he shouted, as the horses pranced in place, eager to be off again.

Rhyse began to bristle at the obvious dressing down Elrohir was about to deliver. Jeren felt his arms tighten around her, and saw his jaw work as he clenched his teeth.

"We are merely riding," Rhyse said, frowning. "Jeren feared being unable to manage Two with only one hand, so I _thought_ this was the logical solution." His tone was just short of belligerent.

"Logical, yes," Elrohir said sharply, "but _very_ unwise. You are still recovering from a wound. Did my brother not escort you here because you are still unfit for duty? If Jeren falls and re-breaks that arm, there will be no saving it a second time."

Rhyse slid off the mare's back, going around in front of Two to better confront Elrohir.

"So she will never ride again? Is that what you're saying?"

"Of course she will ride again," Elrohir said, disdain in his voice. "But when she's able to control a horse on her own, and not before. If it takes another mount to accomplish that aim, then that is what will happen."

"Will the two of you please quit speaking of me as if I am not here?" Jeren finally asked, with more than a touch of temper in her voice. She turned, throwing her right leg over the horse's neck, and was about to slide off the mare when Rhyse stepped up and helped her down.

When she was firmly on the ground again, she continued as if there'd been no interruption. "My arm was broken, not my head! I can still manage to think, hear _and_ speak on my own!" She stalked off, back toward the Last Homely House.

It was the most life either Rhyse or Elrohir had seen in Jeren since her latest run-in with Orcs. Rhyse pulled Two by the reins and quickly caught up with Jeren. Elrohir followed on horseback.

"It's more than a half-league walk back to the house," Elrohir pointed out. He leant down to offer his hand to Jeren, wanting her to ride with him.

But she kept walking, not acknowledging his offered help.

"If I _promise_ to keep Two to a slow walk, she can ride with me, can she not?" Rhyse asked, still indignant over Elrohir's earlier reprimand.

"Yes, but come right back to the house," Elrohir said. "It was my father who saw you tearing across the countryside, and he's the one who sent me after you, so you'll have to see him when you return."

Rhyse grabbed the sleeve of Jeren's right arm, trying to stop her so that he could help her back up onto Two. She did not feel his touch, so his actions had the effect of suddenly pulling her up short.

She turned on him, her face angry, wondering why he was being so rough. He held up both hands then, in a gesture of peace.

"I only wanted to help you back up onto the horse," he said, "I meant no harm."

"I'd rather walk!" she said, and angrily stomped off again.

Rhyse looked at Elrohir, still perched atop his mount. Elrohir just shrugged, and put his heels into his horse's flanks, taking off back to the house.

Rhyse took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. He then followed Jeren, pulling Two along with him.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"I truly do not want you to feel as if you are a prisoner here, Jeren," Elrond said. "But it is premature for you to be going at more than a walk on horseback. You need to get your bearings, learn new points of balance. Your arm being almost completely devoid of feeling throws your natural stability off."

Jeren and Rhyse had gone directly to the Elf lord's study after they'd returned Two to the stable. She nodded, acknowledging his words, but Rhyse said, "I thought you gave leave for her to return to the settlement. It would take us a week to get back to the stronghold at a walk."

"Then it will take a week," Elrond said, his expression set in almost a challenge to the young ranger. He turned his back on them as he made his way to his chair at the desk. "You may begin riding whenever you wish to, Jeren," he said, "but someone must be there to help you at all times, keep you upright and give you instruction as you go. This, too, is something you must re-learn, at least until you gain more use of your arm."

Jeren nodded, but as she watched Rhyse, she could see in his eyes that he was very frustrated. They took their leave of the Elven lord, and they walked hand in hand outside, finally stopping in one of the beautiful gardens that graced Rivendell.

Jasmine climbed an arbor that marked the entrance into this lovely place. With summer's advance, the vines were in full bloom, and the heady fragrance of the small, white flowers, perfumed the air. The buzzing of bees as they sipped nectar from the blossoms made Jeren smile just the smallest bit. Rhyse led them to a stone bench, heavily shaded by three large oaks, and they sat together, shoulder to shoulder, in the coolness beneath the trees.

They were silent for quite some time, admiring the gold, orange and black fish swimming in a nearby pond. Jeren wished she had thought to bring some breadcrumbs with her—she often stopped in this place to think, and would usually come prepared to feed the beautiful fish. But today, she'd not known she and Rhyse would end up here when they left Lord Elrond's study.

"Let's go back to the stronghold, Jeren," Rhyse announced, suddenly breaking the silence. "I feel out of place here, and there is plenty I could be doing back there. Here, I'm wearing out my welcome and am growing restless."

"You are always welcome here," Jeren said in protest. "You are my—"

She stopped for a moment as she searched for the word she wanted to use to describe their relationship. "—friend," she blurted, coming up short in her hunt for something that would say what she meant. "You are also Dúnedain; as such, you will always have a place here."

"I understand what you are saying, Jeren," Rhyse said.

She was relieved that he'd not seemed to take offense at the way she'd described their connection.

"Please put yourself in my place," he said, after a short pause. "I'm mostly hale, yet I sit around here doing nothing. I'm useless in Rivendell. I would not be, back home."

Rhyse's words cut at her heart. She knew all too well how useless _she__'__d_ become. Having Rhyse voice similar feelings made her own idleness seem almost profane. But she would be worthless wherever she was, and that fact would be painfully evident to everyone back at the settlement if she were to go there now.

"You heard Lord Elrond," she said, when she finally found her voice. "I must re-learn riding. I refuse to slow you down when you return. I think you need to go without me, if you must go now."

"If Elladan returns with us, you could ride with him, since I have been deemed incapable of keeping you safely atop a horse." The sarcasm in his voice was not easily missed.

Rhyse was discouraged to hear the dullness that had returned to Jeren's tone. He had almost rejoiced earlier when she'd shown her old spirit, when she'd been angry and walked all the way back to the house.

But that spark of life had been short-lived. Jeren was back to being the same dull person she'd become of late—ever since Haleth's death, if he were honest with himself. He wondered if she would ever be the same again, especially now that she had this grievous injury…

Since she hadn't replied to his offered solution to getting back to the settlement, he thought she'd decided—as was usual for her these days—that for some obscure reason riding with Elladan would not be the answer to their problem that he thought it would be.

He tried to take the angry edge from his voice before he spoke again, in the off chance that he was wrong.

"Will you return with me, if Elladan, or someone else Lord Elrond deems suitable, rides double with you to keep you safe?"

He could not speak more plainly that this. He wondered what her excuse would be this time, for not wanting to do something he suggested they do.

"Let me think about it, Rhyse," Jeren said. "Even with me riding with someone else, it will still be slow going. We'll have to take at least one spare horse, so that we don't ride one to death riding double and going as fast as we usually do. Speaking of which, if we're attacked by Orcs, I will only be a hindrance—I cannot fight for myself. And you are still recovering—you aren't at your peak fighting health, either." She paused, searching his face. She'd seen his expression harden as she explained all the reasons she shouldn't go with him.

Rhyse wanted to shout at her, but knew in his heart she wasn't doing this to upset him—she was afraid. He'd seen it when he'd first suggested that they ride. His strong, fearless ranger woman was weak and terrified of life right now.

So instead of telling her what he really thought, he merely nodded his head.

"All right, Jeren. You think about it. But do not take too long. I am truly eager for us to be on our way."

He took her hand into his and kissed the back of it, then he leaned over and kissed her lightly on the temple.

Jeren smiled, but inside she was worried. She could not see when—if ever—she would be ready to go back to the stronghold. Perhaps she should just tell him that, instead of stringing him along with vague encouragement.

There was nothing for her to think about really—she was not going back to the settlement for a very long time. But she knew that telling Rhyse that would make him angry, and he already had enough reasons to reject her—good reasons. Were she in his shoes, she would not tie herself to a helpless invalid.

Not for the first time, she asked the Valar why they had seen fit to allow this to happen. Why? Hadn't she suffered enough in her life?

_Apparently __not_, she decided.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed. You taking the time to do that means everything to me.  
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	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

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Several hours later, at midafternoon, Jeren was in the library returning the book she'd been reading about war. Rhyse had gone in search of Elladan, and Jeren was sure it was to ask him if he was ready to return to the settlement. She wanted to forget about Rhyse and all the complications he brought to her life right now, and what better way to do that than to read?

As she returned the book she had borrowed to the place where she'd found it, she ran her finger along the multi-colored spines of the books near it, searching for another by Captain Thorongil, but could find no more that had been written by him. He'd used many examples of battles he'd fought in, but they'd occurred in distant parts of the land. It seemed as if he'd spent a good bit of his time in Rohan and even Gondor. Jeren wondered where he was now, if he even still lived.

She'd learned a great deal from his writing, having never given much thought to strategy in war. She often wondered at the reasons why the officers she'd dealt with chose to do the things that they did. Often times she found herself agreeing with senior officers—such as Aragorn or Lord Glorfindel—but sometimes, it seemed as if there was no logic to the orders the younger officers gave—Joem, for instance. She wondered if that was because he truly did not know what he was doing, as she suspected, or if she was merely ignorant of the finer points of battle strategy. She thought it was not that, because her mind was quick, and she seemed to instinctively know how a battle might play out. But how would she ever know for sure, if she could not study the subject further?

"Jeren," Rhyse said, out of breath from running, apparently. "I didn't think I was ever going to find you." He was smiling, and Jeren could only assume it was because he'd found someone to accompany him—and her—back to the settlement. She'd hoped to put off telling him a little longer that she had no intention of going back there, at least for the time being.

Erestor was sitting at a desk a few feet away, and he looked up, a nasty scowl on his lips. Jeren wanted to laugh at the face he made, but knew he wouldn't appreciate it. Instead, she took Rhyse's hand and led him out onto the veranda off the library.

The library was all but open to this outside terrace, and a low stone barrier with pillars rising up from it every several feet served as a wall. So Jeren led the way further into the garden, so as not to disturb Erestor or anyone else who might be trying to work within the library itself. The tiles making up the floor extended outward to a very tall hedge that closed the garden in, making it seem like a massive, outdoor room. Benches were placed along the perimeter several paces apart. There were stone pillars built intermittently throughout the terrace, holding up a wrought iron trellis that served as a ceiling of sorts. At this far end of the garden, wisteria hung in cascading bunches off the framework, now in full bloom. Its clusters of fragrant, purple flowers hung down, but the trellis was high, so the blossoms did not hang low enough to touch anyone. When darkness stole into this garden, small lanterns attached to the trellis were lit, making it seem as if it was the sky above, and one was witnessing a starry night. It was very beautiful, whatever the time of day.

"Elladan has agreed to leave for the settlement tomorrow," Rhyse said. It broke Jeren's heart to hear the excitement in his voice, knowing she was going to be the reason for his enthusiasm to fade.

She walked a short distance from him. "I cannot go back with you yet, Rhyse," she said quietly.

"You want to keep working with Lord Elrond in order to get your arm to work again, don't you?" Rhyse asked. He walked toward her, until he was standing beside her again.

She looked at him, not knowing what exactly to say. She could simply agree with him and there might be less arguing. But she decided to be completely honest with him. She owed him that, she thought.

"Yes, partly," she answered. "He has high hopes, but I do not have any of his optimism. He can make my fingers work faintly, when he uses his healing power and concentrates very hard at it. I'm not moving my hand using my own strength."

Rhyse grimaced, and took her good left hand in his.

"Lord Elrond says there's a good chance you could train your left arm to do what your right knew to do automatically."

"A chance!" Jeren scoffed. By her tone it was hard to tell if she was more scornful or more despondent. "I use my right hand for everything—at least I used to."

"A _good_ chance," Rhyse said, ignoring her remark. He was determined not to listen to her excuses this afternoon.

"Rhyse, I am never going to wield my weapons again." _There, she'd said it._ And it was exactly how she felt. Why go back to the settlement, if she had no hope of being a ranger again?

"Certainly you won't with that attitude."

"Have you even heard what I've been trying to tell you? I barely have feeling in this hand, and I definitely cannot hold a weapon with it." She was beginning to show some life at last. Her endless lethargy was something that had been trying Rhyse's patience since his arrival.

He looked at her for a long moment, then he shook his head slightly as he said, "Jeren—it's not like you to give up without a fight."

"I have been fighting! I have tried repeatedly to do the things Lord Elrond has asked me to do. My hand does not work, Rhyse. I am not giving up, I am merely facing reality."

"When was the time you _ever_ faced reality?" he asked her bluntly. "You—"

"How can you say that to me?" she asked him, her voice calm, but her mood turning from something other than hopeless, which was exactly what Rhyse had been after. "I've had 'reality' knock me down and use me, Rhyse. If anyone knows how to face reality, I certainly do."

He looked into her face, seeing her hurt expression, and was instantly regretting his careless words. He took hold of her arms with both of his hands, and said, "You are right, Jeren. I'm sorry. That was a stupid thing to say. It is just that you've always known what you wanted, and then you've made it happen, whether it was customary or reasonable—_or_ based on reality, for that matter."

"Those days are over Rhyse."

Her disheartened tone had returned. Rhyse dropped his hands to his sides, frustrated, but not yet ready to call defeat. "So easily?"

"None of this is easy."

"But you'd give up on your life so quickly?"

"I didn't give up on my life—it gave up on me."

"Ah, the classic speech of someone in the throes of feeling sorry for herself!" he said, more sharply than he had been speaking before. "You seem to lack ambition, yet you certainly do not lack self-pity. Come on, Jeren. This moping child guise you have adopted does not suit you. I have no desire to be around you when you act in this way."

"Then leave. No one is stopping you."

He looked at her intently for a moment. "I think that might be what you truly want, is it not?" he asked her. She looked away.

"If I go, I will not be returning," Rhyse warned quietly. "I mean it Jeren. You have been sulking like a spoiled child for weeks—even before this injury of yours—and I've grown tired of it." He walked a short distance from her. He glanced back, so that she could hear what he said, but he did not come nearer. "I do not know what to say to you anymore."

"You speak of me and my lack of drive, yet you have no patience with me at all. Can you not give me a little more time? Time to adjust to a life without blades or bows? I've lived my entire existence with one or the other in my hand—in my _right__ hand_, Rhyse—and that hand will no longer hold them."

"Time I could give you, but you refuse to use that time in constructive ways. You sit and pine; I've not seen you do the exercises Lord Elrond has given to you. I cannot abide you when you don't even try."

"I am telling you—I have tried. You've only been here a few days; I've been working at this for weeks. We simply must face facts—I will no longer be a warrior, Rhyse, nor a ranger. It would be best if we both grew accustomed to _that_ reality.

Rhyse walked further away from Jeren, stopping momentarily to lean heavily against a pillar on the terrace. He turned back toward her, but stayed where he was, the distance seeming like an ocean to Jeren.

"That is not a reality I want to imagine—or accept. I cannot even grasp that concept. That is who you are, Jeren—who I love—a warrior, a ranger. I cannot think at all in terms of you never being either of those things again."

Jeren said nothing, but a tear dripped from one eye. And then another dropped from the other one. Jeren wiped her face with her fingers, but the tears would not stop. Rhyse had not said it—yet—but she heard it loud and clear. He was telling her goodbye.

"For Valar's sake, you aren't crying now, are you?" he asked, obviously irritated and without any sympathy. "I've never seen the Jeren I know cry, at least not for herself." He stepped angrily toward her, stopping inches from her side. "I've only seen you weep on one occasion, and it was for someone else—for Elrohir, when he was wounded. And now you not only brood, you cry as well? I cannot take it!"

"Then go away!" she said raggedly, in almost a whisper. He was right, she thought, she truly seemed to have no fight left in her. Her face was awash, but she couldn't make herself care, now not even attempting to wipe the tears away.

"I thought I knew you," he said, even angrier, by now standing over her, "but I find I never did. This is not the warrior I fell in love with. This is some tired woman with no will to do anything. I need a partner, Jeren. I will not be saddled with an old, crying and whining life mate. I cannot marry someone who acts as you do."

"Then don't!" she shouted. It seemed as if Rhyse had at last stoked the fires of her anger, which, in calling her old, at the very least, was enough to finally get her ire up. "I find you are not who I thought you were, either. You are harsh and intolerant—just like your father!"

Jeren could not have said anything that would have inflamed Rhyse more. His eyes bored into hers, his face set in a cold, hard frown.

"At least I am not a _coward_," he said, the venom in his voice—and even in his eyes—unmistakable, "nor a quitter." He was standing very close to her now, towering over her. "What do you fear? It can't be hard work; I've seen you work harder than any man. Why will you not work at this? You will not even attempt to get better!" He circled her like a cat cornering a mouse, and when he spoke again, it was in a deadly calm voice. "I thought that perhaps this injury had changed you, but I think you were probably this way from the start, you were just hiding your true nature from me. You put on a good show—you did not know the word 'quit' when you wanted to be a ranger with the Dúnedain. How I admired you! But now your life has become difficult, so instead of fighting it, you give in to it. You are a cowardly person, Jeren, unfit to wear the star of your forebears!" By the time he'd finished his speech, he was shouting at her again.

"Rhyse." His name was spoken softly, but not by Jeren. "It must be time for you to take your leave," Elrohir said firmly.

Rhyse looked at Elrohir, angry at the intrusion. "I was under the impression that this was a private conversation."

"It would be, were it being held somewhere besides the terrace outside the library," was the Elf's terse reply.

Jeren had seen Elrohir angry before, and he was angry now, although Jeren could not fathom why this argument she was having with Rhyse would set him off. The tension around his mouth, the faint downward drawing of his lips over his clenched teeth, the furrow between his brows, the barest flinch of his eyes—all were warning signs that she shouldn't ignore, but she could not summon the will to do anything about it.

"I'm not finished talking to Jeren."

In three long strides Elrohir was upon Rhyse, with the man's tunic bunched up in his fist.

"Oh, you _are_ finished." The Elf's eyes flashed with undisguised malice.

"Elrohir." Even though only one word had been uttered—his name—it was a quiet command from his father. As neither Jeren nor Rhyse had heard Elrohir's approach, none of those present had been aware that Elrond had joined them, either.

Elrohir slowly let go of Rhyse's tunic front, his hand finally dropping to his side.

"Go. Wait for me in my study," was Elrond's demand. Elrohir said not another word, he just turned and left, his anger still very apparent, barely controlled.

Jeren wondered how the Elves happened to be here just now, but decided it had to do with the loudness of the argument she'd been having with Rhyse—and their cursed Elven hearing.

Elrond turned his solemn eyes to Rhyse, who could not look the Elf lord in the face.

"I thought to ask some inane question, as 'is all right out here?' But I can see it is not, without voicing such nonsense." Jeren did not look up, she stood where she was, one hand covering her eyes, quietly weeping.

"All is right, my lord," Rhyse finally answered. "I think Jeren and I have said all—and more—than we thought to ever say to one another." Then looking Elrond in the eyes, he continued, "I find my presence here is not only unwelcome, it is definitely not needed." He cleared his throat and said with more formality, "Thank you for your gracious hospitality, Lord Elrond, but I find I must be on my way. I am needed back at the settlement. They are hard-pressed for warriors." He paused, and then, looking directly at Jeren, he finished, "They have lost one of their best; I am sorely needed."

Elrond nodded and Rhyse walked away, his footsteps echoing on the tile outside the library. Jeren still did not look up, so Elrond went to her, and bowing his head just a little to better see into her face, he took her left hand, which had been covering her eyes, into his. Patting it gently, he let it fall to her side. He then cupped her face in his two hands, almost insisting that she look at him. Her swimming eyes, reddened from tears, looked back into his and his heart broke just a little. He embraced her then, needing to comfort her almost as much as she needed him to do it, just as he had when she was that young teenage girl many years ago.

"Think not about it for now," he advised her, his voice soothing. "Think about nothing."

Jeren could feel herself slowly relax, and knew for a fact that he was using some vague and mysterious Elven power on her. With an arm around her shoulders, he guided her back inside.

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Elrond sat Jeren down in his study. They'd walked the halls of Imladris quietly, making their way to this sanctuary together, neither saying a word. Only the sound of Jeren's occasional sniffing broke the silence between them.

Elrohir was already in the room, standing at the windows that looked out over the valley of Rivendell. His attention was now focused on Jeren, and Elrond saw how much it hurt his son to see her weep. Their strong, warrior woman seemed reduced to a shattered girl with nothing to live for.

Elrond filled a glass from the decanter on a stand in the corner and brought it to her. He'd never offered her the Elven drink of Miruvor before, but he thought if ever someone's spirit needed help in its very survival, this was the time. He went down on one knee, again taking her left hand away from her tearful eyes. He placed the goblet into it, pressing her fingers around the bowl so that he was assured she would not drop it. For the past several weeks, the Elf lord had seen plenty of glimpses of the much younger girl who had first come to Imladris some ten years ago—the unsure girl with little confidence that she could do anything right and that everything must somehow be her fault. He wanted not to tempt fate. If the glass slipped from her good hand, she would see that as another failure on her part, so he wanted to ward that chance away before it could occur.

He urged the goblet to her lips, and she took a small sip. She grimaced and all but sputtered it out of her mouth again.

"I cannot drink this," she was finally able to say, as she swallowed convulsively and stifled a cough. She shoved the glass back into Elrond's hands.

"I know you do not care for it much, but a little will not make you ill, and it will do much for your spirit."

She continued to hold the goblet out to him, but he slowly pushed it back toward her with the palm of his hand. She sighed and took another small sip, screwing up her face and shuddering as the drink burned its way down her throat.

"That's it," he soothed. "Just one more decent swallow, and I'll let you be." When she looked at him with a plaintive expression, he smiled. "For me?" he asked, in his best 'father's voice'.

She exhaled loudly and did as he asked, and this time as she shivered at its awful taste, Elrond took the goblet from her and placed it on the corner of his desk.

"Now," he said, his voice still kind, "what was all that commotion with Rhyse about?"

"He no longer wants to take me as his wife." She stopped, unable to continue, burying her face in her hand again. He gently took it in his, holding it fast. She looked back into his eyes, hers flooded in tears. "It is as if he may not have been telling me the truth before, when he told me he loved me. I thought if you were to wed someone, you loved her in spite of her ills. If I am not a warrior, he wants nothing more to do with me."

"Who says you are not a warrior?" he asked, his formidable brows drawn together over eyes growing fierce.

Grabbing the sleeve of her all but lifeless right arm with her left hand, and lifting it aloft, she said, "This says so."

"But Dear One," he said, his voice now that of her healer, "it's been such a short while—only a little over a month since your injury. I would not expect—even with miraculous results—that your arm would be much farther into recovery than it is. You need time."

"He is unwilling to give me time."

"I think he is merely afraid. When your life changed, so did his, and he doesn't know any more how to deal with it than you do. He did not want to show you his fear, so he gave you his anger instead. He does love you—how could he not?" He paused for a few seconds, hoping the smile on his face would penetrate the despair that she now felt. "He will come to his senses. He is a good and decent man."

"He is a fool," Elrohir put in bitterly.

Elrond gave his son a dour look, and Elrohir turned back toward the window again. The Elf lord stood and took Jeren's hand once more, pulling her up from the chair. "Let's get you to your room. You need some rest. All this upheaval slows your recovery." He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, ready to walk her to her room.

But she stopped, gently pulling free. "No, my lord; I'll go—you can trust me to see myself upstairs. Truthfully, I have no will to do other than sleep. You need not bother walking with me."

"I will be only too happy to do so."

Jeren smiled, thanking the Valar again that she had such genuine love in her life. Then she aimed a meaningful glance toward Elrohir as she said, "You have more important matters to see to."

Elrond looked at his son, then back at her, nodding slightly. He kissed her forehead, and then opened the door, allowing her to pass in front of him, and then quietly closed it again after her. He then walked toward his son and stopped beside him. Elrohir looked at his father, and Elrond could see anguish in his eyes—and also fear.

"So," the Elf lord said as he stepped away, "what possessed you to lay your hands upon a guest in our house?" He waited for Elrohir's reply for almost a full minute, before turning around to face his son again. "Elrohir? I expect an answer."

"I am no longer a youngling for you to discipline. If I lay my hands on someone here, it is because they needed hands lain on them."

Elrond frowned, not liking the tone or the answer given. "I have afforded you endless patience, Elrohir," he said, and his very tone was a warning, "as have so many others in your life. Jeren, Elladan—even Glorfindel! They all tell a similar story, with no hint as to any reason for your behavior. You have been surly, impatient and careless of others' feelings. Were I not sure it was impossible, I would think you had exchanged natures with your brother!"

Elrohir fought it, but he could not keep the faint smile from his face. "I am sorry, Father. My behavior does leave much to be desired these days."

Elrond walked closer to his son. "I can see in your eyes that there is a grave reason for your change in attitude. Tell me, Elrohir, what is so dire in your life that it would change your very spirit?"

Elrohir turned back toward the window. "I cannot say, Father."

"Cannot or will not?" Elrond asked.

"I cannot speak of it. I do not have the heart to see your eyes cloud in disgust at my disclosure."

Elrond had not thought it possible, considering all he'd lived through these many millennia, but he was genuinely shocked by what Elrohir had just said.

"What could you have possibly done that would elicit any response other than pride from me? That is, if one leaves out the incident earlier today with Rhyse?"

Elrohir smiled wanly again, then looked toward the floor. "This is too vile. It has turned my mind black."

"Perhaps if we had another mind healing session, that might ease your way into telling this—secret—that has you in its clutches."

"My attitude about fighting in a battle with Jeren anywhere near never eased, even with your repeated attempts to change it with mind healing. I never overcame my fear that Jeren would be hurt in a battle we both fought in."

Elrond frowned. "I find it difficult to believe you had no results from our sessions. You found no relief from my intervention?"

Elrohir shook his head. "Not so I could tell. No, I think it will not help with this either. Besides, who knows what other wretchedness lies within the reaches of my mind? I am tainted. Something has turned me evil."

Elrond was at a loss. What else was there to do? He could not order his son to tell him his troubles. He wished that Elrohir were an Elfling once again. Problems such as these—which seemed so large and impossible to his young son—always turned out to be simple to resolve. But Elrohir was long grown, with adult problems not so easily solved.

Elrohir went to the table on which sat the Miruvor. There was also a decanter of wine, and Elrohir poured himself a glass. He turned toward his father, holding the glass aloft in silent question, asking if Elrond might join him.

Elrond nodded and Elrohir poured, handing the goblet to his father. The younger Elf took a large swallow, and Elrond hoped the wine would do its work and perhaps loosen his son's tongue just enough so that Elrohir might free the thing from his mind that was so horrible that he could not even utter it.

Elrohir sat in the chair that Jeren had vacated, and Elrond took his customary seat behind his desk. They sat in silence for a few moments, each thinking his own thoughts.

"So this is not a thing you have done, it is just something repulsive that keeps eating at your mind?" Elrond asked carefully.

Elrohir nodded, but said nothing. He sat with his elbows on the arms of the chair, the goblet of wine dangling between the fingers of both hands.

"When did it begin?"

Elrohir waited so long to speak that Elrond thought he might not answer. "It's hard to say. It is something that came on gradually—probably starting eight or nine months ago—but it has gotten worse with time, especially when Jeren returned from a scouting mission with Joem's patrol—not this most recent one, but about three months ago."

"Then it has to do with Jeren?" Elrond asked, his brows drawn together in concentration.

Elrohir winced, as if knowing he'd already said too much. Then he huffed out a haunted laugh. "Yes, it has to do with Jeren."

Elrond thought for several minutes about what his son had said. What could be so unspeakable that could possibly involve Jeren? He could not for the life of him cipher this out. Elrohir loved Jeren, and it was apparent that that had not changed. But if Elrond was honest with himself, he had noticed that Elrohir avoided Jeren when he could. It did not make sense. _What __could __it __be?_

"Just say it, Elrohir," Elrond said calmly.

Hearing this tone in his father's voice made Elrohir suspect that the Elf lord might be attempting to use his mind healing methods on him in spite of his protests, and he did not want that to happen. He did not remember the sessions he'd had several months ago, and then again a few months later, so he could not really tell what Elrond had said at the time, or the tone of voice he had used. But he had no way of knowing if the filth that had been surfacing recently and gnawing at him night and day was all that there was to find in the dark places of his psyche. The thoughts he'd had for the past several months were terrible enough—he in no way wanted to make the whole matter worse unintentionally.

Yet he knew he could not continue living the way he had been—if one could call it living. He'd felt so vile; he felt as if he were only existing, and others around him were suffering the consequences.

"Just say it," Elrond repeated. "I hold no judgment of you, son. I know you. You are incapable of what you fear—that you are becoming evil—that you might be tainted. No such thing is occurring, and I think if you will share with me what is on your mind, I can help you see that."

Elrohir placed his wine glass on his father's desk, and buried his face in his hands. He stayed that way, unable to look at the Elf lord—or rather, unwilling to see the revulsion on his father's face that he would be unable to suppress, if Elrohir ever worked up the courage to speak.

But speak, he finally did…

"My feelings for Jeren have changed," he finally said, his voice muffled somewhat. He was still looking at the floor, although his hands were now holding the sides of his face, his elbows in his lap.

"In what way? I can detect no change, other than the fact that you are treating her in the same ill way you treat everyone else."

Elrohir reluctantly looked up. "When I first met Jeren, I felt as if I were an older brother to her, but gradually that changed. I began to feel as if I were her father, and she my beloved daughter. I've loved her more than I ever thought to love another Human, Father. Not since Estel.

"With Estel, as he grew older and wiser, it was easier to treat him as a peer. And I'd hoped the same could be said for my feelings for Jeren. However—gradually—my fatherly feelings for her have turned lustful. I've begun to notice her as a woman. What father has feelings such as these for his own flesh and blood?"

"But she is _not_ your flesh and blood, Elrohir," Elrond replied quickly. The Elf lord thought his heart would break at the expression of pure shame on his son's face. He got up from his chair and came around to the front of the desk, sitting on the corner of it, closer to Elrohir. "You have no reason to feel so stained by these thoughts."

"How would you feel, Father, if one day Arwen walked past you and you lusted after her? She embraced you and you could not control how your body reacted to her nearness?" Elrohir asked angrily.

Elrond stood, and held up a hand. "I get your point, son. There is no need to continue speaking in that vein." He walked toward the window behind the desk, pondering quietly. He suddenly turned around, as if some answer might have occurred to him.

"Your own flesh and blood..." He repeated the words he himself had used just moments ago. "Elrohir, those are the same words that I used during the mind healing sessions we had. Do you remember nothing of what went on in those sessions?"

Elrohir shook his head, looking to the floor again, as if ashamed.

Elrond knelt next to his son and lifted his face so that he could be sure Elrohir would hear exactly what he was going to say. "I told you repeatedly that Jeren was _not_ your own flesh and blood; that you need not worry over her as a father might." Elrohir tried to look away again, but Elrond would not let him. "Do you not see what has happened? You listened to me! That is all that is wrong with you, son." Elrond finished with raised brows and a smile on his face.

The relief that washed over Elrohir's features was a blessing to his father. Elrohir embraced the Elf lord, as he had when he was an Elfling, and his Ada had helped him to fix a youngling's dire problem.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"So I no longer have the fatherly feelings for Jeren that I once had because of the mind-healing sessions I had with you?" Elrohir asked his father, for probably the third time. He could hardly believe that the anguish he had felt all these months had such a logical solution.

"It certainly explains everything to me," Elrond declared. "When I perform mind healing on someone, I try to choose my words carefully, because I leave the suggestion of what I am saying in the person's mind. I want to be sure that what I am leaving behind is what I mean to leave behind. And in your case, what I told you was exactly what was needed. You worried as a parent, and I dissuaded that logic in your mind. You are not related to her, so you need not worry over her as a father might. She is a woman grown, who can take care of herself. I told you these things and your unconscious mind believed them. But your unconscious mind did not share with you consciously what it now held as fact."

"I am so thankful to know this," Elrohir said, his voice almost weary. Elrond could hardly believe the change in his son's face. Before, it was obvious that Elrohir felt the weight of the world on his shoulders, but now, while he didn't exactly look carefree, he was clearly relieved.

Now Elrond's face was wearing an expression of doubt and worry. He'd never dreamed that Elrohir would react to his mind-healing methods in this way. It certainly posed a problem. "What will you do concerning these new-found feelings you have discovered for Jeren? You know how fool-hardy it is to fall in love with a Human."

"It is difficult to sort out," Elrohir said almost to himself. "I love her—I've always loved her—but now I have many conflicting emotions." He paused for a moment. "Why did my feelings change at all? Why did they not just stay those of an older sibling for a younger one? I fight alongside Estel and Elladan without feeling responsible for them. Why could I not just do the same with her?"

"You probably loved her this way all along," Elrond said reluctantly. He did not want to give Elrohir any indication that he encouraged any sort of union between him and Jeren. But as a healer and a father, he had to give the counsel his son so craved.

"I think you were more than likely protecting yourself, whether you knew it on a conscious level or not," Elrond said. "Jeren always had feelings for your brother, and you did not want to compete with that, so you told yourself—deep within your psyche—that your feelings did not stray into that area. It was much safer to love her as a sibling might, or a father, for that matter. But when I stripped that away in your mind, all the feelings you ever held for her—consciously and unconsciously—came to the fore.

"We could have more sessions to rid you of this notion, too," Elrond said calmly, although he did not feel calm in the least. The last thing he ever wanted was for one of his children to be drawn toward the life of Humans, and the easiest way for that to happen, in the Elf Lord's viewpoint, was for one of them to fall in love with one.

"I think I will leave the mind healing alone for the present," Elrohir said dryly. "It has done much to wreak havoc in my life."

"You have not answered my question," Elrond persisted. "What are you going to do about this?"

Elrohir looked at his father sadly for a moment. Then he said, in a matter-of-fact tone, "She's betrothed to someone else. Even though Rhyse left her in tears today, her love for him is not something that will fall away because of anything I might disclose about my feelings for her. And she has told me before—she loves me as a brother. There is no reason for her to change those feelings overnight, as she might think I have done."

Elrohir picked up his glass, seeming to look into the garnet depths of the wine. "I will do nothing about this for now." He glanced up at his father. "Her life is much too chaotic at present to add this revelation to the mix. I love her, Father; to suddenly declare myself _in_ love with her would be cruel."

He leaned back in the chair, finally relaxing after months of self-torture. "For now, I am thankful to know there is a reasonable basis for this change in me. For now, that is enough."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**A/N: Well, you now know what Elrohir has been worried about. Maybe it was a shocker, maybe not. I have long resisted pairing Elves and Humans, but when Elf in a Bottle reviewed Chapter 15 of "Follow Your Heart", she inadvertently set me on the path to this story. And Sadie Sil—you also had a hand in this plot line. Thanks, Sadie and Elf in a Bottle!**


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren slowly came awake, feeling as if she'd slept the night away. But it wasn't dawn, it was dark, and she did not know how long she'd been asleep. She'd come directly to her bedroom from Lord Elrond's study this afternoon, had lain down and was asleep within moments. She suspected that one of her dearest Elven friends, one she had often wished was her father, had secretly cast a healing sleep on her.

She felt drugged and lethargic, as if even moving a finger would take too much effort. She smiled to herself as an ironic thought crossed her mind—_mayhap she __could __move __a __finger,__ mayhap __not_. _It__ would__ depend__ on__ which __finger__…_

She was lying on her side, watching lazily as the gauzy curtains, covering the width of the doorway out to her veranda, swung gently in the breeze, billowing out into the darkened room. The shadows cast by the moonlight gave the floating panels the illusion of ghostly breathing as they swelled and receded.

She could vaguely hear singing coming from the Hall of Fire, where typically the Elves would entertain themselves and others when the mood struck. Tonight they were probably there in honor of Rhyse and Elladan's impending departure on the morrow. The lilting chorus was not helping in her quest to rise—if anything, it was making her want to lay there and sleep the rest of the evening and night away.

Thoughts of Rhyse came crashing into her mind. All the pain she'd felt this afternoon, when he had gotten so angry and had said such hurtful things, tore at her heart again. If she were fair, she'd have to admit she'd been somewhat rough on him as well. Likening him to his father was never a wise move. She'd seen him resort to fisticuffs when any of the other rangers had ever made such a comparison.

She'd not worried about that today; he would never hit a cripple.

Jeren sighed and turned over onto her back. A cripple—that's what she was, and again she asked herself what she was going to do with her life. Where would she live? Would she impose on Lord Elrond, here in Rivendell, for the rest of her life? Maybe she _should_ go back to the settlement; her Aunt Elen would not turn her away. She suddenly thought about Anardil, and what he might think of such plans. She knew her father would object at his only daughter taking charity from anyone.

Her thoughts meandered vaguely toward Elrond then, and how he persisted in his mission to get her to exercise and rehabilitate her hand and arm. She did not see the point. She could try from now until the end of time, and would never be able to move a muscle in her hand by herself. But why did he continue badgering her, unless he truly thought exercising it would help?

He was a very proud Elf, she knew. Perhaps it was his pride that kept him insisting that her hand could improve. Maybe he just did not want to seem a failure in anyone's eyes, especially his own. She shook her head slightly at that thought. He would not view this surgery as failure. He knew from the start it was very unlikely that her hand and arm would ever move again. The fact that it had healed and had not needed amputation was a success, as far as a surgeon would be concerned.

A quiet knocking sounded on her door. She wanted to see no one, so she closed her eyes, feigning sleep, and did not answer.

She heard the door slowly open, but did not hear it close again. She feared someone had come to check on her.

Since she distinctly heard footsteps, she knew it wasn't Lord Elrond or any of the other Elves. The only Human in Rivendell at present—besides her—was Rhyse.

She kept her eyes firmly closed, not wanting to talk to him again this day. He was disappointed in her, she knew, but even if he wasn't, she'd had second thoughts about tying him down with someone who could no longer fend for herself. If he needed a woman he could ride with and shoot with and kill Orcs with, then he'd best look elsewhere. She was no longer that woman. She prayed the tears stinging her lids—brought on by these wretched thoughts—would not betray her to Rhyse. Thank the Valar it was dark…

She could sense his presence as he stood beside her bed. His quiet breathing sounded almost thunderous to Jeren, as she lay there trying not to move or squirm. _Why__ did __he __just __not __leave?_

She heard him drop something gently on her bedside table, and then he did something she had not expected—he kissed her lightly on the lips. He then turned and quietly walked out the door. Jeren could hear the final click of the knob, and then his boots on the beautiful wooden floor as he walked down the hallway to his room.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren got up as soon as Rhyse had gone, and lit the lamp on her bedside table—no easy fete for a person with only one working hand. Someone, probably Daeron, had come in at some point while she'd been sleeping and lit the fat candle, which sat on the dressing table in her bathing room. She briefly thought about taking it closer to the lamp, so that she'd not have to walk so far with an open flame on the end of a taper, and give it the opportunity to extinguish itself on the trip back from the bathroom. She decided against it. The candle was large and had obviously been lit for some time—liquid wax was pooled around the flame and threatened to spill if it was tipped even the slightest bit. So she took a taper from a box where they were stored on the desk in her room and touched its tip against the candle's flame. She'd still had to make two trips to finally accomplish her goal—the taper blew out on the first attempt as she passed the open doorway to the veranda. Without another hand to shield it, the flame had sputtered and gone out in the breeze.

This doorway to the veranda was usually open at all times during the late spring, through the summer and into early autumn. The filmy curtains were drawn across the opening at night, or whenever more privacy was desired. During the winter, the glass-paned doors would be closed against the chill and damp.

She quickly found that what Rhyse had dropped on the table was a letter. She sat on her bed and unfolded it—again, taking much time, since only one of her hands truly worked any more. She smoothed the paper on her lap, making it lie flat so that she could read it.

_Dear Jeren…_

_I hoped to see you before I left in the morning, but if I could not, I wrote this letter to let you know just how I feel._

_First of all, I do regret my cruel words of this afternoon. As you no doubt noticed—probably long before you told me so today—I do have my father's ill temperament. I try to keep it hidden, for I do not admire the trait in him at all, much less myself. But I let it loose today, much to my remorse. I am sorry…_

_I will undoubtedly be back on duty very soon, which will suit me fine. I am not my best when idle, as you have definitely found out these past few days. I hate to leave with so much undecided between us, but I feel as if I will lose my mind if I do not get back to work soon, so I cannot stay. And we both need time to think and make decisions about our lives._

_Do not think for a minute that I do not love you. I do sincerely. But sometimes love is not enough. We must both decide if our lives can work together at all, if you are not a ranger. Either of us being unhappy would defeat the purpose of marriage. We must work toward goals that would enhance our love, not diminish it, if that is even possible now. That is another thing we must decide for ourselves._

_With all my love,_

_Rhyse_

Jeren refolded the letter and dropped it back onto the table. Short and sweet. Or not so sweet, depending upon one's outlook. He hadn't closed the door on them being married; his intent was to take some time to think about it. She wanted to feel encouraged by that, but did not. Even if by some chance Rhyse decided that yes, he did love her enough to stand by her—even injured as badly as she was—she knew in her heart that he would always find her lacking, and _she_ could not live with that.

It was difficult being around Rhyse right now. He did not accept her limitations, and if what he said this afternoon was any indication, he did not want to admit to the possibility that she might have limits, especially when it came to her being a ranger. Quite frankly, he had sounded as if he had no intention of ever doing so.

She accepted her impairment. Why wouldn't everyone else? Was she wrong or were they?

Gritting her teeth, she worked at moving her arm. She concentrated, giving it her all. She was able to move it at her shoulder, just as she had done the other morning for Lord Elrond, but that was all she could move.

_Or was it?_

She tried again, focusing on flexing her fingers at the same time as she strained to move her entire limb, and again she moved her arm at the shoulder joint, swinging it forward about six inches. But her fingers did not move. She exhaled explosively, not having realized she'd been holding her breath with the exertion.

Was this just the beginnings of movement of her limb, or was it the extent it would ever move? She'd been doing this trick for about a week now. It hadn't improved further, but then, she really hadn't been working at it either.

She rubbed her shoulder with her good hand. All that effort had made it ache. She got up from the bed to get herself ready for sleep. It was then that she noticed the tray that Daeron had brought while she slept. She lifted the cover from the plate. Cold things—from tonight's evening meal, she assumed: Some roasted chicken, a roll, butter on a small plate and some fresh strawberries. She picked up a berry and took a bite.

It was juicy, and she had to catch a drip that escaped and threatened to run down her chin. She took another bite, finishing the last of it. She started unbuttoning her shirt. Slow going, as usual, but before long she was in her nightdress.

She glanced in the mirror, noting her hair, seeing it was time for a wash again. She shook her head, thinking of how she'd have to impose on Naith to wash it for her. She had a good mind to take a knife to it; it would be easier to keep if it were short. But another discouraging thought intruded into her mind—someone would have to do that for her, too. She couldn't even braid it herself anymore, and that was something she'd been doing since she was six!

Near tears again, Jeren got into her bed. She turned the wick on the lamp until the flame disappeared.

Sleep—that's what she needed, more sleep. She hoped she wouldn't dream, because in her dreams she was almost always whole, and when she woke up, bitter disappointment awaited her.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The Hall of Fire was somewhat sedate this evening. It was usually livelier, sometimes even with dancing, depending on the occasion. Yes, there was song here this evening, but two of those in attendance were not listening; in fact, they were having what was turning into a rather heated discussion in a far corner of the main room.

"You must be jesting," Glorfindel said, acting as if he were stifling laughter; but Elrond could tell by the stiffness of the Arms Master's spine that he found precious little humor in the favor Elrond had just requested.

"I can assure you; I am as serious as I have ever been."

"Pose a different favor to me at another time, friend. I trained her once and found her fit. I have no stomach for playing nursemaid to a sulky child." He took a sip of the drink he was holding, his penetrating gaze meeting Elrond's over the rim of the cup.

"She isn't sulking, Glorfindel; she's terrified. And if someone cannot get through to her soon, all hope of her arm regaining any function will be lost."

"Get Elrohir to do it—you told him you would, when he brought her here with an arm so injured it would have been better off gone."

"Says someone with two good arms," Elrond replied quickly. It was his turn to stare Glorfindel down, as he, too, sipped from his goblet. "Elrohir is working on something else. That leaves you."

"Elrond—"

"—_must_ I amend the favor and make it a command?"

"_You_ command _me_?"

"It has been known to occur on occasion."

Glorfindel's jaw stiffened even more, as he thought about Elrond's proposal. "_If_ I agree, there will be conditions."

"Name them."

"Once I start there will be _no_ interference from you."

Elrond thought about that for a moment. Certainly Glorfindel was angry now, but Elrond knew him well enough to know that he would never harm a trainee, nor take his anger out on one.

"Done."

"Also—when she meets with your approval, and you say my work is finished, you will _never_ command such of me again."

Elrond frowned, thinking this one over a bit. _Never _was a very long time in the lives of Elves.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren slept later than usual the following morning. Being up half the night tossing and turning did not make for early rising. Thoughts of Rhyse and her life in general kept her mind in veritable tumult. Yet once she did fall asleep, she didn't stir at all until sounds of persistent knocking broke through the heavy fog that sleep had immersed her in.

"Come in," she muttered. Even in her haze she had the presence of mind to hope it was not Rhyse, changing his mind after all and deciding to stay. He was right—they did need time apart in which to puzzle out this mess that their lives had become. And she did not want to see the pity in his eyes, or his contempt, for that matter, when he was faced with watching her struggle to do things she could no longer do.

"For Ilúvatar's sake, you're still asleep!" Daeron said almost to himself as he poked his head through the barely open door. He burst the rest of the way into the room, his voice rising as he advanced. "I knew an ill wind must be blowing, when you did not show for morning meal." He stood at the foot of her bed, talking to her as if she had been awake for hours. "It would be wise if you rose at once. I've just been directed by Lord Glorfindel that you are to meet him in the south training yard in twenty minutes. Even if you got up instantly and got ready at top speed, you will still be late. You know how he hates to be kept waiting."

Jeren sat up and stretched, yawning. "What can he possibly want with me? And in the training yard…"

"Training would be my guess, since that's what he does and that's where he usually does it." Daeron's cheeky smile did nothing to lighten Jeren's mood. She lay back down, snuggling into her pillow.

It was all too apparent that drastic action was required. Daeron could see she was not of a mind to get up at all, much less hurry, so he advanced further into the room, pulling the covers off her warm body. "Do not make me get a basin of water from the washroom and pour it over your head," he said in way of warning.

"You wouldn't," she mumbled as she sat up again.

"Do not test me—you may find out exactly what I might do. I am not fond of explaining myself to our illustrious Arms Master."

Daeron picked up the tray he'd left for her last night and headed back to the door, as Jeren got up and made her way into the bathing room. Just before he closed the door behind him, he turned around and said, "I'll have a morning tray here for you directly, so get dressed quickly. No one can do any training on an empty stomach."

Jeren heaved a deep sigh, and then went about her morning routine. She lamented about the messiness of her hair, but there was no help for it. If she was to be in the south training yard at all this morning, she would not be able to remedy its unkempt state. She washed her face and rinsed her mouth and then set about getting dressed.

By the time Daeron was back, Jeren was dressed in a light-weight white shirt and dark leggings. She sat at the desk where he had placed the tray, and hurriedly ate what was on the plate that he had uncovered with a flourish—eggs, a link of sausage and a piece of bread with blackberry jam spread over it.

Daeron was soon bustling about while she ate, putting her bed to rights.

"Don't bother with that," Jeren said. "I can do it."

He looked at her sheepishly, but continued with what he was doing. "Yes, but it will only take me a few moments, and you just do not have the time this morning."

Jeren couldn't help her hurt expression. What Daeron hadn't said was that he could do a much neater job, and in a fraction of the time.

She unconsciously reached for her sword on its belt, which she kept in the corner beside the desk. But even if she had been able to strap her belt on by herself, the simple fact was that she had no notion of where her weapons even were. She'd been unconscious when Elrohir had brought her to Rivendell this time, and had no idea what had become of them. It shocked her to realize how quickly and how completely she'd forgotten about things that had always seemed as if they were a part of her.

She hoped Daeron had not noticed her momentary lapse, but she should have known better. Her day had gotten off to a rocky start, and it looked to be going downhill from there.

"Worry not," Daeron said. "Glorfindel will have with him whatever training weapons you might need, _if_ that is indeed his purpose for you this morning."

He finished smoothing the bed with one final pat to a pillow, and then he walked over to her, stopping in front of her. He stroked her left cheek with his right hand, and then let both hands linger on her upper arms.

"Remember who you are," he said, "when Glorfindel seeks to trip you up, as we both know he will. I do not know what he's about this morning, but whatever it is, _my_ Jeren can take what he hands out and can hand it back to him, without getting herself into trouble. Your quick mind always amazed me," Daeron admitted, smiling now. "And it served you well, when dealing with the Arms Master. At times it seemed as if you surprised him, and he could never quite figure out how you had even come close to doing such a thing."

Jeren glanced away for a moment, but then let her eyes rest on his again. She did not smile; in fact, her face was sad. "Yes," she said in her customary dull tone, "but I've not seen _your_ Jeren in weeks. I think she might be dead."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Glorfindel was leaning against the fence that surrounded the south training yard, slowly stroking Asfaloth's mane. There were no others training today, Jeren noted as she approached, but she wasn't surprised by that. Some of the Imladris force had ridden out with all the trainees this morning to participate in a training mission. For some of the trainees this would be their first taste of killing Orcs. Rhyse and Elladan rode with them, and would ride on to the settlement, since Rhyse had not yet been released from the healer's care. Elladan would then leave again, meeting up with the Imladris warriors, to hunt with them. He was tireless in his quest to see the enemy slain.

"You're late," Glorfindel said, not bothering to hide the annoyance in his voice.

"Well, you gave me no notice," Jeren said, by now grumpy from lack of sleep and having to hurry after being jolted awake.

"What did you say, Girl?" he asked her, his voice soft but dangerous.

"You gave me no notice, _sir._"

"The proper response, _Girl_, would have been no response at all," he said, standing straighter as if to assert his authority. "What? You were caught sleeping? At this hour?" Again, his disdain was difficult to miss. "You do remember the penalty for lateness, do you not?"

"Permission to speak, Arms Master?" Jeren asked with total compliance now, although she could not for the life of her figure out his game.

"Permission granted," Glorfindel said with a little more approval, both on his face and in his silky tone.

"The penalty for lateness is running a league for every five minutes of tardiness, Arms Master."

"Very good, Girl," he said quietly. "You haven't forgotten _everything_ you were once taught." He circled around her as he spoke, obviously sizing her up and finding her lacking. "Since you are not long out of your sick bed, I will amend the penalty—for now. You will run a half-league for every ten minutes you are late. Since you are fifteen minutes late, you will run three quarters of a league. Now, get to it."

Jeren could hardly believe her ears. He acted as if she were back in training. "Lord Glorfindel, why are you doing this? I've been out of your command for years."

"Now is not when I wish to discuss this with you. When I do feel the need, I will. Now, get you gone, and then report back to me at the armory."

"But that's another entire league from here," Jeren said, with a plaintive quality to her voice.

Glorfindel smiled, and then leapt up onto Asfaloth's back, looking down on Jeren. "And it is not likely to grow any closer, the longer we discuss it."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Of course, Jeren had come to the south training field on foot; she truly had no idea how to mount a horse in her present condition without any help, and that had only added to her lateness. This training yard was at least a twenty-minute walk from the house. She briefly considered going right back to her room and returning to bed. This exercise was one she could completely do without.

Yet her warrior's principles would not allow her to disobey a direct order, especially from the Arms Master himself. So she took off into the woods, following the path that was always used for this type of exercise—or penalty—whichever the case might be.

There were markers at the various lengths—half league, three-quarters of a league and full league—subtle though they were. There were carvings on various trees, placed at eye level, scored onto trunks that you could pass without even seeing if you did not know they were there or know of their import in judging the length of your run.

She ran at first, but had to slow to a walk very soon—too soon, really. She could not believe how much her stamina had declined in the weeks since she'd been injured. As soon as she'd caught her breath, she'd run for another length, until she could not continue. It went this way until she was finished running altogether. As she emerged from the path, she slowed to a walk and then bent at the waist, leaning over, with her good hand just above her knee, catching her breath. Her other arm dangled lifelessly at her side.

The more she had run, the angrier she had become. In the past, the opposite had occurred. She had often used running to try and free herself from rage—be it in the form of Orcs from the past, or a harsh trainer on that very day. But today, the longer she ran, the more livid she was with a certain blond Elf.

As soon as she could breathe freely again, she started her trek to the armory. Another whole league. If only she could ride. This walk would probably take her almost an hour, even if she ran part of the way.

When she finally arrived at her destination, she yanked the armory door open and stomped inside, looking for Glorfindel. It did not take her long to find him; he was sitting at a table fletching arrows. That surprised her—she would have thought such a mundane task was beneath him.

He got up and pointed toward the door, and without speaking they both went outside. He had three wooden training swords leaning against the outside wall, and he picked one of them up and handed it hilt first to Jeren. She looked at him warily, but accepted the blade with her left hand.

"I have given you the lightest of the training swords. Now, keeping your arm straight, I want you to point it to the ground out in front of you, its tip in the dirt, and then lift it to shoulder height—straight out before you—and back down."

Jeren did as she was told. She was sure her facial expression left much to be desired, because her anger at Glorfindel was only increasing. Much to her dismay, he walked back into the armory, and left her doing the arm exercise over and over again. She was so angry, she wanted to cry, but she would never give him that satisfaction.

After at least ten minutes, he returned and motioned for her to stop.

"The other arm, now, but without the sword," he said.

"I cannot—"

"—I am uninterested in excuses, Girl. I am only concerned with results. Now do as you've been told."

Jeren was holding her temper, but just barely. She prayed that she would not start crying in anger before this farce was over. She closed her mouth, her jaw clenched, and she tried to move her injured arm. It rose, ever so slowly, but she was able to lift it until it was almost level to the ground. She marveled at what being angry could do for effort—this was the highest she had lifted it since she'd been wounded. But she could not maintain it, and it fell like a dead weight to her side. She bent over slightly, holding her shoulder with her good hand. The pain in her arm where it had been broken was extreme. Tears were threatening to flood her eyes, yet she refused to let them fall.

Glorfindel walked up to within inches of her, so close she flinched away. He smiled, but grabbed the right sleeve of her shirt, up near the shoulder seam. He ripped her sleeve away, dropping it to the ground, and she gasped, wondering why he was treating her this way.

Quietly, he said, "Again." He placed his hand beneath her arm, and as she lifted it this time, he supported it. He peered at her bare arm as she worked, and placed his other hand on her back, right at her shoulder blade. When she could lift her arm no higher, and it would have fallen again, he held it in place, up and parallel to the ground.

Suddenly Jeren felt light-headed, as if she might faint. She must have faltered, because Glorfindel's hands tightened as if he were afraid she might fall. She looked at him and was taken aback by the show of obvious concern on his face. It was as if he was finally looking at her for the first time since she'd returned from running. He took her good arm around the bicep and led her back inside, to the place he had vacated earlier, and shoved her gently into his chair. He left but returned quickly, a cup of water in his hand.

"Did you not stop to quench your thirst at all, Girl?" he asked her gruffly. She drank greedily for a moment, and then tried to put the cup down, but he would not allow it. She drank again until all the water was gone.

"Permission to speak, Arms Master?" she asked, and even she was appalled at the sound of weakness in her voice.

"Permission granted," he said quietly.

"No, I did not drink while I was running, or afterward. I was in too big a hurry to get back to you, so that I could give you a piece of my mind."

He raised one eyebrow at her cheeky tone. "And why, pray, was that? What do you have to say, Girl?"

She tried to stand, but, again, he wouldn't allow it, placing a hand firmly on her shoulder to prevent her rising.

"I want to know why I am being punished in this way. What have I done to warrant such cruelty?"

This time both of his eyebrows rose, only now even higher. "Cruelty?" he asked her, with incredulity on his face. "You think my actions cruel?"

"I do. What am I supposed to be training for? I can do nothing—not even ride. I certainly cannot hold a bow or a sword. What am I doing here?"

"You were holding a sword just a few minutes ago, doing a drill. Yes, it was a primary drill and a wooden sword, but it was still training. You looked to be holding it well. Why do you feel fit to complain?"

"_What_?" Jeren asked, this time her turn to be disbelieving. "That was a drill, with my weaker left hand? Why? What can you hope to accomplish?"

"It is not I who needs accomplishment, Girl. That is what you need."

Jeren closed her eyes, silently counting, hoping her anger would abate just a little. When she felt somewhat calmer, she opened them again.

Glorfindel stood tall, looking down on her. Without giving her a chance to say anything, he told her, "Have the seamstress remove the sleeves from your training shirts, so that I can see which muscles are working in your arm and which are not. Then come back here tomorrow at the same time you were _supposed_ to meet me today."

Jeren narrowed her gaze, disgust shooting from her eyes. "You have evaded my question," she said, her voice turning petulant, despite her wanting to remain in control. "Why am I here? Why are you doing this?"

"You may take your whining to the Lord of Imladris, but you will find little sympathy there. It is by his order that I train you now. And while you are at it, tell him I said that my dislike of this command he has seen fit to saddle me with does indeed have a basis. He will understand exactly what I mean, if you use the same tone of voice that you are using on me."

And Glorfindel turned and left the armory, going where, Jeren did not know—nor did she care.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**A/N: Thanks so much to my faithful reviewers: Sadie Sil, Brandibuckeye, Song in the Woods, Teacalm, Livia09, and Elfinabottle. I couldn't continue without your steady support.  
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	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

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"So this is where you are hiding."

Jeren let her head fall back, wishing she'd gone undiscovered for a little while longer. At first light, she'd snitched three apples from the kitchen, and had gone to the stable to see Two. She pocketed one of the apples to eat later, fed her mare one, and then ate one herself. Then she had led Two out to a fenced field far from the house. It had taken them quite a long while to reach it, since Jeren was walking beside Two instead of riding her. And now her hopes of being alone were dashed, when she realized that Elrohir had thought to look for her here.

She turned toward Elrohir as he approached, but kept her place at the fence where she'd been watching as Two grazed contently on the rich, verdant grass. "I am not hiding. I am in plain sight."

"But about as far from the armory as you could go and still remain within Imladris borders."

One corner of Jeren's mouth lifted, as if she wanted to smile, but could not quite accomplish it. Perhaps her mind was playing tricks on her, but Elrohir's customary sarcasm seemed to be back; it had been long since he'd used his easy wit on her. Dare she hope that he was feeling better about whatever it was that had been bothering him for so long?

"What brings you out this way?" she asked him.

"Glorfindel; he said you hadn't shown yourself for training this morning. He also said you are sorely trying his patience, since he hates waiting for anyone or anything."

"Well, I hope he has stopped waiting for me by now."

"Oh I am sure he has already found something else to occupy his time."

"Good."

"He is quite annoyed because he isn't where he truly wishes to be—on the training mission with the novice warriors. That is what he would be doing, had he not agreed to train you again."

She looked at him, wondering just what he was getting at. "That is unfortunate; but I do hope he can find someone other than me to harass, since he seems so fond of doing that." After a few moments' lapse, she added, almost wearily, "I wish he _had_ gone with the other trainers on the mission."

"He doesn't have to put aside _any_ time for you, you know," Elrohir said. "He is doing you a favor."

Jeren turned on Elrohir, not even trying to suppress the anger she felt. "I asked him for no favors!"

"No, but my father did, on your behalf."

"What possessed your father to do such a thing?" she asked bitterly. "Am I not miserable enough without having Glorfindel trying to get me to do things that I can no longer do?"

Instead of answering her, Elrohir turned slightly away from her and whistled shrilly—and loudly.

Jeren winced and gave him a shove with her good hand. "Ruin my hearin', next time, why don't ya?" The glare she gave him made him laugh.

"You sound very much like your father used to," he said, still chuckling, and she smiled, remembering how Anardil had used almost that exact phrasing many, many times.

"Sadron* is in the stable, though, Elrohir," Jeren said in a sarcastic tone. "How can you expect your horse to come when he's closed in, if he even heard you from way out here?"

"Oh he heard me, all right," Elrohir answered her just as cleverly. "Worry not, I am sure he'll put up enough of a ruckus that someone will let him out. Certainly you don't think this is the first time I've ever whistled for him, knowing full well he was stabled, do you?"

Jeren's smile was as genuine as she had been able to muster in quite some time. "Where have you been, Elrohir?" Jeren asked wistfully, so thankful that Elrohir had finally come back to them all. "I've missed you so much, and I am very glad that you seem to be your old self again."

Elrohir didn't need for her to explain what she meant; he knew exactly what she was talking about. He smoothed her hair with one of his hands. "I am sorry that I've been poor company for so long; I've had something on my mind, but a talk with my father has calmed my spirit. I feel much better of late." As he gazed into her eyes, he noted her sadness. "Come, let's ride. I want to show you a place that has served me well over time; a place where peace and tranquility will fill you."

Elrohir's stallion Sadron cantered up to them then, slowing as he drew near. And Jeren was afraid again. Being up on a horse was not a place where she felt safe anymore.

"W-what about Two?" she asked, almost wincing at the shakiness of her voice.

"We'll take her back to the stables when we return."

It was hard for Elrohir not to take note of Jeren's tenseness. He could not imagine having one of his arms be no more than a burden—not being able to feel it, for the most part, and definitely not being able to use it. He supposed it would throw a person off-balance, and that might make riding a daunting thing, not to mention the obvious problem of only having one hand with which to control a horse.

He thought about the other day, and how she'd ignored his offered hand, when he would have pulled her up behind him to ride back to the house. Instead she'd elected to walk all the way home. He now realized that her fear ran deep, and he was unsure if just pulling her up on the horse would be a wise idea—it would probably make it that much worse.

There were large cut logs lying on their sides around the perimeter of the fence, for sitting, if one had a mind to, but in this instance, Elrohir wanted to use one to give Jeren a step up, so that she could get onto Sadron more easily. He took her good hand and led her to the nearest hewn tree trunk, which was about two feet high; almost too short for sitting, at least for the average Elf. At one time, this paddock was used for accustoming Elflings to being on a horse's back, and when one had to wait his turn, sitting was always the better alternative. A young Elfling could get into much trouble, especially when he was left to his own devices, running around on his own two feet.

Elrohir smiled as he thought about those Elflings of long ago. That was before he was born. By the time he and Elladan had come along, most of their training to horse was done in the paddocks adjacent to the stable. When he'd first learned about this field here, he'd asked why the trainers had come out so far to train the young ones. The answer was not surprising—having the Elflings walk so far was a vain effort to tire them out. When the trainers learned that it didn't work, they saved themselves some time and trouble and began using the closer paddocks.

Elrohir's intention was clear—he wanted Jeren to step up on the log to make her mounting easier. But Jeren hung back, as something occurred to her.

"You told Rhyse I would not be riding again until I could handle a horse by myself," Jeren said, and her facial expression matched the smugness of her tone. She thought she had found the perfect excuse so that she would not have to ride.

Elrohir sighed and then forced a smile. "You're right, I did say that, but it was more to keep Rhyse from trying such a fool thing again, than to keep you from riding with someone who actually knew what he was doing. Are you really saying that you do not want to come to a peaceful place and spend some time with one of your favorite Elves?" He was shamelessly looking at her with his most endearing expression in order to sway her, to help her conquer her fear, at least for the moment.

This time, it was Jeren's turn to sigh. She really did want to go with Elrohir, to this place he was describing. He was being his old charming self; she hated to not take advantage of that. She'd been so full of doubt and sadness for so long, but more than that, she wanted to be with him, especially now that it seemed as if he had finally worked out what had been bothering him. She gazed into his beautiful face—took note of his impish grin—and made her decision. She smiled wanly as she stepped onto the log.

As soon as Jeren was on Sadron's back, Elrohir leapt up behind her, circling her with his protective embrace. "Worry not," he said into her ear, "we'll be going at a walk the entire way." He did not see Jeren's humiliated expression at his words; this fear she had of riding galled her.

Of course the Elven mount had no tack, so before they'd gone far, Elrohir took Jeren's good hand into his and placed it onto Sadron's mane at the base of the horse's neck, instructing her to grab a handful of the coarse hair. He hoped that that simple action would help her feel as if she might have some control over her fate as she sat atop the tall, Elven horse.

They rode away from the field, further still from the house, into the woods on a very narrow path, which climbed steadily upward as they continued on their way. The path was so narrow and overgrown that leaves and twigs brushed their legs and arms as they rode along. Elrohir spent much of his time with his head bent so low that his chin nearly rested on Jeren's shoulder.

"I cleared this path when I was no older than one of your Human adolescents," he said. "I would come here when I could not tolerate life."

"You mean you and Elladan would come here," Jeren amended for him.

"No, he was never here, to my knowledge," he said. "I know he never came with me. As close as my brother and I are, there are times when I must go off alone—to clear my thinking; and that began long ago."

They'd been riding on the path for about half an hour, when it opened up to reveal a beautiful glade. A creek ran down the hillside, the sun shining on the sparkling water as it tumbled over the rocks, its soft music filling the air.

Elrohir slid off the horse, and then helped Jeren down, keeping her hand in his as he led her into the shade. They sat side by side on a large flat stone next to the water's edge and listened as the water splashed and flowed over the riverbed on its way further down into the valley.

They were quiet for a time; Elrohir broke the easy silence every now and then by finding a stone beside the creek and skipping it across the water's surface to the other side. Jeren was caught up in the peacefulness of this place, and sitting here with Elrohir, with neither of them saying a word, did not make her uncomfortable or tense, wondering what she should say, how to say it, or even that she must speak at all. But neither was she caught off guard when Elrohir started talking.

"My father only wants to do right by you, Jeren," Elrohir said softly, picking up their earlier conversation as if there had been no pause in it. "He doesn't mean to interfere—he rarely does that in his adult children's lives, but it does happen occasionally, especially when he fears we are about to do something stupid. Well, something he might consider stupid, anyway."

He skipped another rock across the creek. "I don't think it's a secret how he feels about you—he sees you as another child of his, Human that you are. So think kindly of him as you bristle at his butting his nose into your affairs."

Jeren started to say something, but Elrohir wouldn't give her the chance. He had things to say that he felt were important; things she needed to hear. But first, he had a question…

"If he thought there was no chance of improving the state of your hand and arm, he would not beleaguer the subject. He would leave you be, while trying to fill your time with things you _could_ accomplish. But you seem unwilling to do anything—learn how to use your other hand _or_ work at making your injured side better. Why is that, Jeren? This indifference you exhibit is completely unlike you."

Jeren was surprised that Elrohir had twisted the conversation as he had. She had been prepared to tell him about all the grievances she had with his father—which were, truthfully, few—but Elrohir had turned their discussion back around to her so fast that she had no idea how to reply at first.

She started to not respond at all, but quickly saw the futility of that idea. Elrohir was like a dog with a bone. He wouldn't allow her to leave his question unanswered, so she might as well give in and at least try to say something that might appease him.

"I don't know what's wrong with me, Elrohir," Jeren said at last. "I seem unable to work up anything resembling enthusiasm about anything. I feel dismal and lifeless. I have for quite some time now—even before that Orc nearly took my arm off." Jeren was shocked at her answer. She'd not meant to say that at all.

Elrohir took her left hand into his and waited for her to continue.

"Nothing seems important enough to get excited about anymore, but at the same time, I'm always afraid. I do not have the faith that your father does. I can see myself dependent on others from now on. But even that is tempered by this unending listlessness—as if my life doesn't matter to me anymore."

"What do you think brought about this change, since it has been with you even before the battle that left you injured?" Elrohir asked her carefully.

"Somehow it has to do with Haleth—her death and how she—," Jeren paused just a fraction of a second, then finished, "—died. I keep wondering why she did it. Why did she react in such a final way?"

"I think Haleth's death struck you hard, leaving you wondering why she died and you did not, after you had both suffered in such similar circumstances. Haleth, unfortunately for her, did not possess the strength of heart that you have, Jeren. She was weak, where you are strong."

"I do not feel strong anymore, Elrohir," she said in a voice so weary, he almost could not believe it was Jeren speaking. "I feel melancholy and out of sorts all the time."

"I'm thinking that on some level you feel guilty because you're alive—and she's not," he said in reply. "That is enough to bring anyone's spirit low. You each suffered through horrific ordeals; Haleth could not face hers, but you did and made something of your life. Yet somewhere, deep in your heart, you believe you do not deserve to be so fortunate. But that is wrong, Jeren. Very wrong.

"When we came upon you those ten years ago, as the Orcs were raiding your house, one of the things we all marveled at was the evidence of how hard you had fought them. On the other hand, when we came upon the Orcs raiding Haleth's home, they'd not yet finished with her. At the time, we were thankful for that, because, for the most part, she was unharmed."

Jeren started to protest, understanding exactly what Haleth had endured and wanting Elrohir to know that losing one's virginity to Orcs was not exactly 'unharmed'. But he squeezed her hand and went on.

"Except for the obvious, Jeren. I know she was injured; do not think I am overlooking the very real suffering she endured. But she did not have the severe cuts and bruises on her, nor a concussion, where they had beaten her into unconsciousness, as you did. She swooned before they truly had gotten their hands on her. You did not. You fought them with every fiber of your soul. Haleth did not fight, and had we not come across her when we did, the Orcs would have killed her because they would have grown bored with her. I think she would not have lived through this, whether it was death by their hands or by her own."

"I suppose you know all this—how Orcs treat their victims and let them live—or not—through personal experience?" Jeren asked skeptically, and with quite a bit of sarcasm. She knew that Elrohir was telling her these things to somehow make her feel better, and she also knew Elrohir well, and he could be quite convincing, whether he had real practical knowledge of a subject or not.

Elrohir paused before answering, studying her closely, as if trying to decide whether to tell her more or let the moment pass. He seemed to come to a decision quickly.

"Yes, I do have experience to support what I am saying. Not only have I heard other Elven warriors speak of this very thing, I have witnessed it personally." He left her hand resting on his knee and found another small, flattened stone and sent it skipping across the creek again.

"Do you remember when you rescued me from Orcs three years ago?"

At Jeren's nod, he went on, "I told you then that that was not the first time I'd been taken by them. That was, in fact, the second time I'd had the displeasure of being a _guest_ in one of their campsites. It was years ago, but it truly matters not the when of it." He thought for a moment and added, his voice gentle, "It was after my mother had been taken by them, but a while before she sailed. I sometimes wonder if finding out about my capture was the breaking point for her, and caused her to seek more peaceful shores." He shook his head as if trying to rid his mind of that sad memory. "I was fairly young, but had been a warrior for many centuries, so I was no stranger to Orcs and their ways.

"In the wee hours of the morning after my capture, my captors dragged me into a clearing where another band of Orcs were already camped. It was still a few hours prior to dawn. The other Orc band had a captive, too. A woman. Her name was Ríann…"

Elrohir's expression turned thoughtful, as he was obviously remembering that long ago time.

"The Orcs were taking turns at her; she was fighting viciously—biting, kicking, cursing and screaming. It made me ill to witness the Orcs' cruelty to her, but there was truly nothing I could do. I was bound—both hand and foot—and even were I to somehow free myself, there were too many of them and too few of me.

"When it was almost dawn, and the Orcs were ready for their rest, they brought Ríann over and threw her down beside me. Although they bound her hands, they did not bother to bind her feet; the Orcs had burned their soles pitilessly. She could not have walked far on them, had she had the strength to try. She was completely spent from attempting to defend herself for what must have seemed like endless hours to her.

"Before they left us to rest, the Orcs threw a dirty blanket at her, and she covered her nakedness as well as she could. I thought she'd be hysterical and continue to weep and scream, but as soon as the Orcs let her be, she grew quiet.

"I was cautious about speaking to her; I knew not if the repeated atrocities the Orcs had visited on her had twisted her mind away from reality. But I had to try. I wanted her to know she was not alone—and that rescue was at hand. I knew Elladan and those we rode with would not leave me to those brutes' cruelty any longer than necessary.

"So I told her my name and where I was from, and that if she could hold out for a while longer, that she would be rescued and taken to a sanctuary, where she would be healed and cared for until her family could be contacted to come for her.

"For a long while she said nothing. I thought she'd fallen asleep in her exhaustion. But finally—maybe an hour had passed—she murmured her name. Ríann. Once she had broken her silence, she seemed unable to stop speaking, but she talked quietly, ever mindful of the Orcs sleeping nearby.

"At first she lamented that she knew not why she fought the Orcs so fiercely every time they laid their hands on her. Her entire family had been slaughtered by these beasts, so she truly had nothing left to make her life worth fighting for.

"She told me she'd lived on a farm with her husband and two little boys—very small boys—six months and two years, she told me. These Orcs had raided their homestead at sunset three days prior, and had killed her husband right off. She was skilled with the bow and held them at bay all night, so the Orcs took shelter in the barn for the day. She knew she should run—that it was perhaps her only chance—but the children were so small she knew that their progress would be slow. They lived an entire league from their nearest neighbor, who happened to be Ríann's sister and her husband.

"There was a plow horse in the barn, but that's where the Orcs were—she could not use him in her escape. And even though she was terrified of leaving the relative safety of her home, she made the only decision she could—to flee and find help elsewhere. She knew the house was only safe until the Orcs roused themselves again, and that they would set fire to it in order to flush her out. She said she had been very surprised that the Orcs had waited as long as they had to set it aflame. Luckily for her, the Orcs were a stupid bunch, without any true leadership, or they would have set it on fire sometime during the siege, well before the sun rose.

"So Ríann set off on foot the following morning, when the sun was fully up, and she knew the Orcs would not emerge from the barn for hours. She gathered all the arrows she'd shot the night before and placed them in her quiver. All she took with her was a little food, some water and her bow. She affixed the baby in a sling on her back and led her two-year-old out of the house.

"Just as she'd feared, their passage was slow, and they did not make it to her sister's place until mid afternoon. But all was not well there; not by far. The Orcs had visited this farm first. There was no one left alive. Ríann could not stay where there was so much death and devastation. She fretted over leaving the bodies of her sister and her sister's family without burial or rites, but she was very tired and weak, and she feared for her life and the lives of her boys. She set out again, but did not get far. She had gone all night and all day with no sleep and little food. The children were exhausted and the two-year-old could no longer stand on his own. She tried to carry him, but quickly flagged. So she found a dense stand of brush and hid herself and the boys the best that she could.

"Unfortunately, it was not good enough. It had grown dark, and while she and the children were sleeping, the raiding Orcs who had done all the damage on the two farms found her. They killed the babies in front of Ríann and took her captive. She remembered thanking the Valar that it was dark, and she did not see much of the actually carnage, but the babies' screams were something that she knew would haunt her until her death. At this point in her story she could not continue for a time. She was weeping, and when she again took up the tale, she told of feeling responsible for the deaths of her sons. She was full of 'what ifs' and 'if onlys'. I tried to reassure her, telling her she'd done all she could possibly have done, but she would hear none of it."

Elrohir faltered in the story, and for a few moments was silent. Jeren took his hand into hers again, and squeezed it, much as he had done to hers earlier.

Elrohir smiled wanly and then continued. "She'd been captive for two days. The Orcs would leave her until after nightfall, and then they would torment her for hours.

"She told me that she had not eaten since the first night she was taken. It seems the Orcs—they had—"

Again Elrohir hesitated, seeming unsure how to say what he wanted to say. He looked at Jeren, anguish in his eyes. "They gave Ríann some meat they had cooked over their fire, and she was so hungry she ate it right down. She soon realized that she had eaten meat of an unknown origin; she had never tasted its like before. The Orcs started laughing, when they saw the unease on her face, and they then told her exactly what—she had eaten. She had not been able to eat again after that.

"So I implored her then to eat and drink whatever the Orcs might give her from then on. That even if it was again the flesh of a person—even one that was dear to her—that she would be defying the Orcs in the end if she lived because of it. But she was already very weak, and when she did attempt to eat the following evening, she could not keep it down. She died at the end of that night, just before the Orcs decided to sleep. She could no longer fight and had lapsed into unconsciousness. They had no use for a woman who was not struggling against them any longer and they slit her throat."

Elrohir looked Jeren in the eyes and said, "So yes, I know for a fact that if a woman does not fight an Orc, she will die sooner rather than later. Haleth lived longer than she would have because we came along in time to rescue her, but if we had not, she would not have survived.

"You are alive and Haleth isn't because you fought. It isn't because of circumstances or who suffered more than the other. It has to do with heart. You have it. Haleth did not. So whether by her hand, or by the Orc's hands, I am not surprised she did not live through the experience."

Elrohir paused another long moment, and then said, "Ríann reminded me very much of Jennah, or I should say Jennah reminded me of Ríann. Your mother could very well have been a distant relation to Ríann, many generations down the line. Jennah had that same huge heart that Ríann possessed—that you have. She passed that courage and spirit down to you, Jeren. Do not waste it. It is a valuable asset; a gift not everyone is fortunate enough to receive."

"I don't want to waste it, Elrohir, but how can I use it when I can no longer fight?"

"You are so certain of that, are you?" Elrohir asked, that impish glint shining in his eyes. Jeren was so happy to see that light back in Elrohir's expression that she almost missed what he said next.

"My father is the healer—not you. Let him do his healing on you, Jeren. If you resist him every step of the way, you will never know whether you could have fought or not. Do as he is advising you—train again. Endure Glorfindel for a time. He, too, only wants what's best for you, but unlike my father, he does not possess the patience to continue doing something for someone who shows a distinct lack of appreciation."

Jeren couldn't help the smile that came to her lips, nor her quiet chuckle, when she looked into Elrohir's teasing eyes. He was right about one thing—Glorfindel would not allow anyone to abuse his time. Even though he was an Elf and was immortal, he guarded his time with passion.

She didn't know exactly if it was Elrohir's return to being himself or his wise words that had somehow—finally—set her spirit free. She glanced up at Elrohir and he was looking at her with all the love she could possibly ever want or need from another being, be it Human or Elfkind. She leaned against him heavily, her left arm going around his waist, even as his right arm came around her.

She rested her head on his shoulder, but after only a few moments, she kissed the side of his neck. She was a little puzzled by the tiny shiver she felt go through him then, but he did not pull away.

"Thank you, Elrohir," she told him, as she laid her head back onto his shoulder. "I do not understand how you do it, but you always know when to tell me exactly what I need to hear."

"What I said will only be valuable if you will take it to heart, so that you can finally start getting on with your life."

Jeren was silent for a few moments, and then she sat up. "I don't know, Elrohir. This arm is pretty useless."

He turned toward her then, taking her right hand into his grasp. "Has any more feeling returned?" he asked her.

"I don't know… I don't think so."

He ran his hands down her arm, starting near her shoulder and ending at her wrist.

"Did you feel my touch just now?"

"Yes; from the beginning I've been able to feel sensation on the inside of my arm, but the outside is as if nothing is even touching it."

He took her hand into both of his, and began to pinch lightly on the soft the skin webbing her fingers together. He would look to her face for reaction, but she didn't flinch until he got to the middle finger.

"It seems as if the last two fingers still have no sensation, but the inner three do," he said. "Is that right?"

Jeren nodded, so Elrohir laced their fingers together, his left palm to her right one. Then with his other hand, he flattened her fingers over the back of his hand and then pulled them up, repeating that action several times.

"Now, this time when I press your fingers downward, I want you to hold onto my hand."

"Elrohir, I can't—"

"—Jeren, you've not even tried. How do you know you cannot?" He was scowling at her, and she couldn't help but laugh. After a moment, he laughed with her.

"Now do it. I'm going to hold onto your hand, and I want you to hold onto mine. Ready?"

Jeren chuckled again, but nodded her head. Elrohir laced their fingers together, and with his right, he folded the fingers of Jeren's injured hand over the back of his left hand, holding them there. He then tightened his grip slightly and released her fingers, which he'd been holding down with his other hand.

He watched as she concentrated, and at first nothing happened; all her fingers sprang away from his hand as soon as he let go of them. But she grabbed her right elbow with her left hand, holding it steady, and he could see the effort she was giving it. Her first two fingers and her thumb moved toward his hand. She could not complete the action and grasp it, but they moved under her power.

She glanced up at him, disbelief in her eyes. His eyebrows shot up, and his smile beamed. She fell into his arms, laughing and he caught her and held her close.

He ran both hands over her back, relishing the feel of her being so near. Too soon, she sat up, still laughing.

"I've not been able to move my fingers on my own until now, Elrohir," she said breathlessly. "This gives me hope."

"As well it should. And the more you work at it, the easier it will become. Who knows if you will ever truly get full use of your hand back, but if you do not even try, you will never know."

She hugged him again, and they sat there together, as they had so often in the past, his arm around her shoulders, both of them in contented silence.

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**A/N: *Sadron (pronounced Sahd-ronn) means faithful, according to the website Arwen-Undomiel. com. Again, I'm no medical expert, so my guesses as to how Jeren's arm will react as it heals are just that-guesses.  
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	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

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As soon as Jeren returned from her outing with Elrohir, she went to her room. You would have thought that the peaceful setting where she had spent quite a bit of the day would have put her into a mellow mood, but she was restless and could not settle. She walked from the bathing room to the veranda—she even sat down for a moment—but she was soon back on her feet to continue her pacing.

Finally she went to the wardrobe that stood against one wall and opened both doors. She rifled through the different garments until she came to the ones shoved up against one side—her training clothes. She took out the shirts and spread them across her bed, looking at them one by one, wondering if it would really do any good to start training again. If she had any notion about working with Glorfindel, she would have to do as he'd demanded and have her shirts altered; have the seamstress remove the sleeves. She really didn't know what good it would do for him to be able to see which muscles she was using, but he was the trainer, after all, and she the trainee.

At least she was thinking about being a trainee again. She still had so many doubts…

Deciding not to think about it overmuch, she had taken her shirts to the seamstress, and had then wandered outside, thoughtful. After defying Glorfindel and not reporting to him at all this morning, she didn't know if he would consent to train her again. Yet she was fairly adept at showing contrition; employing pitiful eyes and cheerless lips had won her sympathy in the past, but she was far from practiced at such things. Jeren had always been more direct than to try and fool people with false faces. But this was Glorfindel, the mighty Elven warrior, and she truly did not know what his reaction might be to her insubordination. It would be best to try and think of all possibilities. Whether childish tactics would have the desired effect on the ancient Elf was something she did not know.

_If_ she decided to train again. It would help if she could conjure up more than a fleeting hope that all this effort would not be for nothing.

Since she knew she had at least one penalty run to do—perhaps several—she went back to the training path and ran for an hour. She more or less walked and ran, but that was all she could do before, so she decided it would do for now. And, as in the past when she would run, she felt her spirits rise as her breathing quickened.

She thought that maybe showing this initiative at punishing herself might go some distance in persuading Glorfindel to continue training her. She knew that leaving him waiting had been the surest way to acquire his wrath. She'd wasted his time, and to Glorfindel, that was a serious infraction. For all she knew, she might be running every day until Lord Glorfindel decided for himself that she'd run enough.

_If _she decided to train again.

The next morning, at an hour much earlier than she was supposed to meet Glorfindel the day before, she was already at the armory. It felt strange having no sleeves in her shirt, but the seamstress had had them done by last evening, and Jeren thought that when Glorfindel saw them, it might convince him that she was now serious about this endeavor.

_But__ was __she?_ _She__ couldn__'__t __decide._

She'd gone inside and found the lightest wooden sword again and brought it out into the training yard. While she was waiting for Glorfindel, she did the same exercise with her left arm that he had made her do two days ago. She didn't like it. Using her left arm felt foreign to her, but she supposed that was the point—for her to get more familiar with using her non-dominant side. She decided it wouldn't hurt to at least attempt Lord Elrond's suggestion and try to use her left arm as she'd once used her right.

Before long, Glorfindel came striding along the walkway to the armory. Jeren rested the tip of the wooden sword in the dirt as she waited for him to draw nearer to her. But instead of greeting her as he usually would, he walked right past her, as if she weren't even there. As the door closed softly behind him, Jeren had second thoughts about her initial plan. She'd seen him annoyed before, but as it turned out, the reality of his anger this time was nothing like what she expected. Of course she'd never outright defied him before, either. When dealing with the Arms Master in the past, she had always trod the straight and narrow. She placed the wooden sword against the outside wall and opened the door, all the while wondering if she was doing the prudent thing by going after him at all.

She was still uncertain that any of this would do any good. But moving her fingers on her own yesterday was something that had not happened before. _If__ only __she __could __be __sure__ more __training__ would__ help__…_

She looked into every place that she could think of in the armory where Glorfindel might be and finally found him in a room that she'd never been in before. The door was ajar, so she slowly pushed it open, just wide enough so that she could peer inside.

The room was large and airy. The ceiling was high, as were the ceilings in all the rooms of the armory. Racks of swords lined one wall, their ornate hilts extending from elaborately decorated leather sheaths. The opposite wall consisted entirely of mirrors, just as the main training room for the novice warriors did. A window was on the other side of the room, allowing shafts of early morning sunlight to play across the floor. She'd not known this place even existed, or rather, had never tried to get in the tightly locked door. She wondered if all these swords might be the property of the Arms Master himself, or perhaps they belonged to other Elven warriors of the past, simply kept here in Imladris for antiquity's sake.

Glorfindel was indeed in this room, and Jeren stood mesmerized as she watched him go through the same sword training exercises that he taught to all the novice warriors. His movements were fluid and graceful, yet she'd never seen masculinity displayed in quite such a magnificent way. His thighs and hips hardened and flexed as he stepped forward, and then dropped into a crouch. She could see the powerful muscles in his arms and shoulders bunch and relax as he hefted the mighty weapon in his grasp. It was a beautiful sword, its gleaming blade etched with intricate Elvish symbols, and every now and again it would flash in the sunlight streaming through the open window. She was awed, and it took her a moment to become aware that Glorfindel had stopped and was staring at her.

She could feel the heat of a blush as it crept up her neck and into her face. And she had no idea what to do or say. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, she opened the door more fully, took a few steps inside and bowed her head, uttering quietly, "I am sorry, Arms Master."

Glorfindel turned, retrieving a cloth that had been draped over the rack of weapons, and then ran it over the great blade, before he sheathed the sword, placing it in the rack with the others. Turning back to face her, he asked, "Sorry for what, Girl?"

Jeren glanced up, no thought of trying her contrived pouts on him now. She could tell by his demeanor that not only was he well beyond those ploys, but that they probably would never have worked on him anyway. Moving her eyes to the floor again, Jeren decided to be as truthful as she could be. "I am sorry for much; for watching you just now, when you did not know of my presence, but mostly for wasting your time yesterday. For that I am truly sorry."

Glorfindel chuckled, which was the last thing she expected from him. "I knew you were there. Think you I do not possess all the Elven traits of my kind?" He turned away from her again and wiped at the sweat on his brow. Returning his gaze to her, he said, "All right; you are sorry. Now leave me." When she showed no signs of doing as he'd directed, he brushed against her on his way out of the room, passing Jeren so closely that the end of one of his braids whipped at her nose. Fighting a sneeze, she ran after him.

He went into the room he reserved for his office. It was fairly large, with a big table and chairs in the middle of the floor and not much else, except for four stands along two of the walls where maps were stored. Each wooden stand was made up of at least two dozen squares, each square containing a neatly rolled map standing on end. The table was littered with papers and parchments, which looked to be in no particular order. There was an open window on one wall, which allowed the breeze to come through, threatening to lift the things on the desk to scatter them all over the room. Glorfindel searched through one of the stacks and quickly found what he was looking for. He then he sat down.

Jeren now knew without doubt that this wasn't going to be easy. She had completely misjudged the situation. She didn't know what to do or say. Glorfindel had forever been a mystery to her. He had always intimidated her to a great degree, but he had never completely disregarded her before._ Now __what __was __she __supposed __to__ do?_

She'd stood in the doorway of his office for a few minutes in her uncertainty, just long enough for Glorfindel to notice that she had not gone away as he'd commanded.

"Are you still here, Girl?" he asked her quietly. He was looking over his shoulder at her, but did not rise.

"Yes, Arms Master," Jeren said, bowing her head again, to show her complete obedience. She thought it prudent to not speak unless spoken to, so she remained silent, with her head bowed, as was proper for a shamed trainee.

"Why?"

She was sure that she heard impatience in his voice now. He turned further around in his chair, resting his arm on its back. "And speak with speed; I do not have all day to listen to your whining." Again his voice was soft—smooth steel. He did not raise it, even though she knew his patience was almost at its end.

She moved closer to him, standing right beside the table now, so that he did not have to twist his back as he listened to her appeal.

"I was hoping that you would continue training me, Lord Glorfindel." In a way her statement completely surprised her. _When __had __she __decided__ positively __to__ do __this?_

She glanced up at him then, wishing that she would see compassion on his face. But he disappointed her again. His expression was still the flint-hard one it had been when she'd first noticed him staring at her in the room of swords.

"Your hope is futile, Girl," he said, looking back to the parchment he'd been studying before.

"Please, Lord Glorfindel; I will never be late again, and I will make no protest against anything you might require of me." She was appalled at the slight pleading tone in her voice, and it suddenly occurred to her that she wanted this as much as she'd ever wanted anything before.

"Where were you yesterday?"

"I was with Elrohir."

"Get Elrohir to train you then."

"I did not seek him out; he found me."

Glorfindel looked at her as if he might think she'd taken leave of her senses. "And why would that matter in the scheme of things?"

Jeren didn't have an answer to that question, so she plowed on, "I want the best to train me, Arms Master; and that would be you."

"Flattery is unbecoming of you, Girl." He shifted the parchment he'd been reading into another pile on the desk, and then looked back at Jeren. He took a deep breath and exhaled audibly, obviously tired of this conversation. "Have you spoken to the Lord of Imladris today, and now he is using you to get what he wants?"

Jeren shook her head as she answered, "No."

"Well I spoke with him last night, and he relieved me of this chore. Now go bother someone else."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren was at a loss.

She'd left the armory after she'd been summarily dismissed by the Arms Master and made her way to the stable. She did not know why she had come here, but here she was in the stall, leaning against Two, running her hand over the mare's sleek neck.

She'd thought fleetingly of going to see Lord Elrond, but she was pretty sure that if Glorfindel was angry, then the Lord of Imladris would, at the very least, be extremely disappointed in her. This morning she could not bear to meet his disheartened expression, especially knowing that it was she who put it on his face.

_Now what?_

It was a question she'd been asking herself over and over since she'd left the armory. She truly did not know when the idea to allow Lord Glorfindel to try his training on her had really taken hold. One thing she did know was that talking to Elrohir yesterday had loosened the binding she'd felt strangling her spirit for the past several weeks—ever since Haleth had drowned herself amid the rocks in the Bruinen.

And somehow that loosened binding had freed something else inside her. Or maybe it had been Elrohir's story—about Ríann, and never giving up no matter how tired, injured or disheartened one might be. She wasn't consciously thinking this way yet, but somewhere, deep inside her, she knew she wanted to try.

At last, she wanted to try to get her arm and hand working again, even if it proved unsuccessful in the end.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The evening meal that night was tense to say the least. Jeren felt somewhat ill at ease in Glorfindel's presence, but she did not believe it was her attendance that was causing all the stress. When Lord Elrond asked her of her day, she told him she'd been at loose ends and had spent a great deal of time with Two.

"How would you like to start riding again, Jeren?" Elrohir asked. She could sense a certain challenge in his tone, as if he knew the trial being on a horse's back presented to her these days, with only one good arm with which to guide a beast several times her size. Evidently, after their talk, it seemed as if he wanted to see if his words had had any effect on her.

She quailed at the thought of riding alone. She had still been afraid, even when there were strong arms to hold her in place and keep the animal under control for her. But as she looked into Elrohir's eyes, she felt a small bit of the steel return to her spine. She'd not felt like this in quite a long while. So she told him she'd love to begin learning to ride Two again. Inside she hated herself for rising to Elrohir's bait. She sincerely hoped she would not embarrass herself when she was faced with being on a horse with only herself to rely on.

As the meal continued, she realized from where all the tension was emanating. There was a distinctly frosty air between the Lord of Imladris and the Arms Master. And she could only imagine that she was the cause of any strife between them. She promised herself that she would seek out Lord Elrond after the meal and put this problem to rights. If Lord Glorfindel did not want to train her, then Lord Elrond should not hold that against him. After all, it was her own doing that caused the Arms Master to seek to abandon Lord Elrond's command.

As soon as the meal was over, Jeren went to her room for a few minutes, wanting to allow time for the Elf lord to get to his study, which is where he went every night at this time. She smoothed her hand over her hair and washed her face, even though she needed to do neither thing. She finally left her room, and on her way down the stairs she met Elrohir coming up them. He stopped her and asked, "Were you truly serious about returning to riding? I won't push you if you still feel you are not ready."

Jeren was anxious to get to Lord Elrond's study. For one thing, she was just a little nervous about talking to him about this. She knew where the blame lay, for their disagreement. If she'd not been so stubborn, refusing to meet Glorfindel because she'd felt put upon, none of this would have happened. Her attitude had completely changed after Elrohir had talked to her, and she wanted to arrive before Lord Elrond became too deeply involved in something and would not want to be disturbed.

"Yes, Elrohir, I'm ready," she said absently, and went past him as she began her descent down the stairs again.

"Where are you going, Jeren?" Elrohir asked her, reaching out and grabbing her hand as she passed. "I thought perhaps you might want to join me out on my veranda this evening. I know that I pushed everyone away for a very long time, but now I find I desire more company." His smile was beautiful, and Jeren hated to say no, but she really wanted to speak to Lord Elrond.

"I'm going down to see your father," she said. "It was difficult not to notice the strain between him and Lord Glorfindel at the table this evening, and I am sure I am the cause of it—"

"—Jeren, do not interfere in this," Elrohir said, interrupting her. When he noted her frown, he quickly added, "Yes, the subject that started the debate between them was you, but it degraded quickly into something else. Words were said by both that have to do with long history. It would be best not to approach my father with this, at least not tonight. I am sure they will soon come to amends on their own."

"How do you know this, Elrohir?" she asked, perturbed to be stopped from doing what she knew to be right.

"Unfortunately, I was there last night when they had their disagreement," he answered, and his expression implied that he would much rather not have been there at all. Pulling on her hand, which he'd not let loose of this entire time, he forced her to turn around and come back up the two steps she'd descended. "Come with me, Jeren. Leave it alone for a few days and you will see—they will mend their fences, and you will not even have to be involved."

Jeren frowned, sighing, but then allowed Elrohir to escort her to his room. He opened the door and let her go in before him. She made her way to the veranda, where a table and chairs awaited them.

Jeren stepped out into the airy space, feeling the fresh air as it caressed her skin. She turned her face skyward, gazing at the tiny pinpricks of light made by the stars. Elrohir pulled a chair out for her and she sat. It was then that she noticed the bottle of wine on the table.

"You've not taken to drinking all the time, have you Elrohir?" she asked him, and her face was so serious that Elrohir laughed.

"If you're asking if I've spent all my time lately with a wine bottle, the answer is no. I thought a small drink between friends would not be amiss tonight."

"I'm not very good at holding spirits, Elrohir. I thought you knew that."

"I remember you telling me that before, although I've not witnessed it firsthand." He poured her a glass and extended it to her. When she hesitated to take it, he added, "I didn't invite you to drink the entire bottle, you know." She frowned at him, so he continued, "You're with me, Jeren. What harm could you come to?"

She accepted the wine with tentative fingers. "I suppose you are right. And if I could learn to drink without getting so drunk, it might serve me well someday."

"There you have it," Elrohir said, his smile beaming.

Had Jeren not known better, she might have been suspicious of his mood.

"I've really made a mess of things, haven't I?" she asked, just before she took her first sip of the wine. It was fruity and cool, and she savored its taste.

Elrohir looked at her questioningly, and she filled him in on the events of the morning, and how Glorfindel had washed his hands of her.

"Everyone makes mistakes every once in awhile," Elrohir said. "Even you." He winked at her to let her know he'd only been jesting. "You've been through much this past month or so. Try not to be so hard on yourself."

"But how am I going to convince Lord Glorfindel to train me again?"

"I am not sure you can," Elrohir admitted. "As you have found out, he can be very bull-headed and not apt to give second chances. But if you will allow it, I can train you in his stead."

"I would appreciate that, Elrohir, but I got the impression that the Arms Master must know the different muscles of the body and how they work. He instructed me to have the sleeves removed from my training shirts. He _said_ it was so that he could see which muscles worked and which did not. Do you know about any of that?"

Elrohir shook his head. "I do not. However, my father would. I could get him to teach me what to look for and how to proceed."

Jeren nodded as she took another sip. Elrohir placed his hand on the base of her glass, easing it back down to the table. "As far as drinking goes, Jeren, the first rule is to sip slowly, over a long period of time. That will go far in helping you to keep your wits about you."

She giggled and said, "Thanks, Elrohir. I will keep that in mind." Then looking at the glass longingly, she added, "But it tastes so good."

"I know," he said, and patted her hand, leaving his own atop hers. "But that is lesson two: Self Discipline. I know you have it; I've seen you use it. So employ it when it comes to drink, and your problem will be solved." He took his hand from hers then, and placed it on the table between them.

Jeren nodded again, absently, and stared off into the night sky for a few moments.

"More importantly than any of this, though—what am I going to do about Rhyse?" Jeren took a big swallow of the wine then, glancing at her companion over the rim of the goblet. As she placed the glass back down on the table, she grimaced, remembering too late what Elrohir had just said about self-discipline.

"What is there to do?" Elrohir asked, noncommittally.

"When he left here, I don't think either one of us liked the other particularly well. But that was my fault…"

Elrohir sat up straighter. "Why was that _your_ fault, Jeren? Don't forget, he made you cry."

"Don't remind me of how weak I am, Elrohir, as to allow anyone to make me weep. I am mortified that I did that… and in front of Rhyse!" She closed her eyes and let her head fall back, shame apparent in her every movement. She took another large drink of her wine. Elrohir again placed his hand on hers, and when the bottom of the glass met the tabletop, he pulled it toward himself.

"Crying does not show weakness, Jeren," Elrohir said quietly. "Some of the most courageous warriors I've ever fought with wept when the battle was over and friends were lost. Why should it make so much difference that you might shed tears in front of Rhyse, who is supposed to love you under any circumstances?"

"Because at the time I was only feeling sorry for myself."

"You've had much to feel discouraged about." Elrohir leaned forward to emphasize the point he was trying to make. "And since Rhyse professes to love you, he could have shown a little more compassion. You were badly hurt, and might not ever regain total use of that arm. Any warrior would mourn such a loss."

"I am not just _any_ warrior, Elrohir," Jeren said earnestly. "I am a woman warrior, and a woman's tears are always—_always_—viewed as weakness, no matter their cause."

Elrohir sat back. "I suppose you do have a point with that. But still, Rhyse should be able to withstand a few tears from you, if he truly loved you the way a man is supposed to love a woman."

Jeren was taken aback by what Elrohir had just said.

"You don't like him, do you Elrohir?"

"It doesn't matter how I feel; what matters is your feelings; that is the point I am trying to make."

"Oh don't talk around the subject with me, Elrohir," Jeren said with a smile. She took a mental note: Her words were starting to slur. But she wanted a true answer to her question. "Why do you not like Rhyse, Elrohir?"

"I do not dislike him, Jeren," Elrohir answered, feeling a little edgy. She was coming too close with all these questions. The last thing he wanted to discuss with her was her lover. "He is a fine ranger and a good man. It's just that—he does not treat you in a way that _I_ would—_think_ that he should." Even speaking carefully, he'd almost blurted out the way he really felt for her. He was feeling distinctly un-Elflike at the moment.

The simple truth was that Elrohir had never been in love before. He'd never been serious about any of the Ellith he knew. Not seriously serious. Unlike his twin, he'd never dallied with a female at all. He preferred to keep to Elvish custom in matters of the heart.

"When has he treated me badly?" Jeren asked quickly, a frown on her face. "He's always been very nice to me and treated me just like any other ranger."

"That is meat of it," Elrohir said. "He treats you like any other ranger! Listen to yourself, Jeren! This is the man who is to be your husband? And he treats you no better than he would treat another ranger? I would hope you would expect more than that. Where is your female pride?"

Jeren wanted to laugh, but knew she shouldn't, because she knew Elrohir was serious. So she hid her smile behind the wine glass, as she took another small sip, trying to decide how to answer him.

After she'd regained her composure and was fairly sure she had her mirth under control, she said, "My feminine pride is just where it needs to be, Elrohir. I leave it in my heart, where it belongs. Of course Rhyse treats me as a woman he loves, when we are in private, but when we are _not_, which is, by the way, whenever you or anyone else might see him treat me in any way special, he behaves toward me as ranger to ranger, and that's exactly how I want it and need it to be!"

Elrohir smiled, in spite of the stab of jealousy he felt when Jeren brought up her heart and Rhyse in the same breath. He decided a change of topics could not be had quickly enough.

"You are speaking as a ranger, again, Jeren. It's about time..."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren had gone back to her own room a little while later, and still Elrohir sat at the table on the veranda. The half-empty bottle of wine was no longer appealing in the least, so he twirled the stem of his empty glass absently as he sat contemplating how the evening had gone.

He berated himself as he thought about his true intentions—to get Jeren drinking, so that perhaps she might be more receptive to his romantic advances—_if_ he could ever gather the courage to make any.

All had been going according to plan—until she mentioned Rhyse. Elrohir had then remembered what he'd been trying to forget—Jeren was in love with the man. He had truly not wanted to malign Rhyse, but everything he seemed to say about the ranger came out sounding distinctly spiteful. _Or __maybe __jealous __was __the__ better __word._

He'd had pangs of conscience even before she had brought up Rhyse as their topic of conversation, though, and as a result, had tried to advise her on drinking wisely, for all the good that had done.

He didn't truly know what to feel about how this evening had gone. A part of him was ashamed he'd even thought about using such tactics to ease Jeren toward him. But another part of him was wild with hunger for her.

Of course he was Elven, and had ever been schooled at keeping wayward emotion contained. He heaved a big sigh and got up.

He was going for a swim.

Cold water—that's what he needed to douse this fire in his heart.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Sit up straighter, Jeren," Elrohir commanded. "Slouching throws your balance off."

He had repeated this phrase what seemed to him a million times. He was guiding Two around the corral in a small tight circle using a single long leather rein. Before listening to the sharp retort she was about to give him, he plowed right on, saying, "I know you feel as if you have no balance, but I'm watching you. I won't let you fall."

"How will you prevent it from way over there?" Jeren asked, her teeth clenched with fear. She needed to keep them clenched tightly; Elrohir had Two going at a tooth-jarring trot, considering the size of the circle they ran. She had a part of Two's mane bunched up with the reins, and she was holding on for dear life.

"You're in no danger—I'm very quick," he said with a laugh. For the life of her, Jeren could not see any humor in the situation. As for Elrohir, it was either laugh or cry.

This was the third day this week that the two of them had been working on Jeren's riding skills—or lack thereof. She tried very hard not to show her fear, but it was useless; she could not control it, and she was sure it was written plainly on her face. In truth, Elrohir was no more than four feet away, but to Jeren, it might as well have been a full league.

She'd been riding alone since she was six years old and, long before that, her father had held her in front of him as he rode. She'd ridden Jones from the time she was ten, and Jones had been such a peaceful mare any child could have ridden her. Jeren felt a familiar stab of conscience as she remembered just how Jones had died—being a shield against Orcish arrows as Jeren attempted to escape that fateful day, ten years ago.

In light of all that, this unmanageable fear seemed ridiculous to her. This was something she was so familiar with, but she shuddered whenever she thought of riding alone. She couldn't even mount or dismount under her own power anymore. She had never stopped to think about just how much one depended on two arms and hands.

The entire thing was galling.

"Bring your right arm up and hold the reins with that hand," he suggested.

"Elrohir, have you taken leave of your senses?" Jeren called out, almost frantically. In all honesty, she was concentrating so hard on sitting up straight that she didn't think she could accomplish trying to move her bad arm at the same time. "I cannot hold this arm up for any length of time, so when it falls and pulls on the rein on that side, she'll turn away from you."

Elrohir walked toward Two and grabbed her bridle with one hand. "You're right about that, Jeren," he said. "I was afraid you would continue to be oblivious to everything but staying up there and would allow me to keep guiding her with this lunge rein." He looked her squarely in the eyes before he said, "There's no bit in her mouth, and if you would have been paying attention, you would have noticed that before you even mounted."

Jeren blushed, but didn't let it keep her quiet. "What's that got to do with anything, Elrohir? Two's a very well-trained horse; she needs no bit to be controlled by her rider."

Elrohir looked at her as if something was dawning in his mind—finally. But it wasn't what was dawning on him that he was trying to point out—it was what she'd just said.

"Truly?" he asked, as if he were amazed at her mental acuity. "Now if that is the case, _why_ are you so afraid that you cannot control her with your uninjured arm and hand?"

Jeren frowned for a moment and then a look of amazement came over her features. Relief rushed through her as she thought about what she'd just said—Two didn't need a bit between her teeth for her rider to guide her. Just the slight pressure of the rein against either side of her neck and Two responded. Jeren knew this. She'd always known it. Why had she forgotten it so thoroughly?

She threw her right leg over Two's withers, intending to slide to the ground. Elrohir placed his hands on her waist, guiding her down so that she wouldn't hurt herself in the process.

As she looked at Elrohir, her face lit up. "I've been terrified for nothing! Why didn't I think of this before?"

She hugged Elrohir fiercely, and he held her close; he loved any excuse to touch her these days. She finally pushed back from him, her left hand planted firmly in the center of his chest.

"And just how long were you going to keep letting me do this?" she asked angrily. She gave him another shove with her hand.

He grabbed both of her arms, holding her back away from him, lest she strike out more violently. "As long as it took for you to remember—you are a rider and you have a good horse that has been well-trained. I never imagined it would take you three long days! You were so wrapped up in fear and doubt that you wouldn't allow yourself to relax enough to think of it on your own before now. Do not ever forget this lesson again."

Jeren was so excited over her new revelation that Elrohir's prolonged lecture hardly registered in her mind. "I want to go riding, Elrohir!" she said excitedly. "Right now!"

"I hate to discourage you, but there are still things you must accomplish before you go haring off on this horse alone."

"Like what?" she asked, with a defiant tilt of her head. Elrohir wanted to shout for joy. It seemed as if—finally—she had completely come back to herself.

"Mounting and dismounting by yourself, for one thing," he said.

"I know I can do that!" she said. "I'm going to try right now."

So he held Two's head while Jeren put her toe in the stirrup and her left hand on the saddle horn. She pulled and strained, but without at least a small bit of help from her right hand, she could not complete the action.

"Try again," Elrohir said quietly.

Breathing hard, Jeren nodded. She tried again, her foot in the stirrup and her left hand gripping the saddle to pull herself up. Elrohir planted a hand in the seat of her pants and shoved her the rest of the way upward, so that she could swing her right leg over the horse's back.

Elrohir smiled and shook his head slightly as he told her, "Well, that was awkward, and you did need some help, but you're getting there, Jeren. Eventually, your legs will strengthen so that you won't need the help your right arm used to give you—_or_—that arm could improve on its own."

She was breathing hard, but her smile was glowing. "Thanks Elrohir," she managed to huff out. She nudged Two with her heels and the horse started walking. Jeren urged the mare again with her feet, and Two began to trot. She gripped the mare's sides with her knees for added security, but otherwise let her body take over and remember how it felt to ride a horse. Jeren gained confidence the longer she was in the saddle this time. She was no longer off-center with an arm that didn't work. She felt like a rider should—as one with her horse.

She suddenly felt free, as she hadn't in so long. She wanted to jump the fence and go flying through the fields—an easy thing for her before—but she knew it was foolhardy. She needed more practice riding before doing something so advanced. And besides, Elrohir still held the lunge line attached to Two's bridle.

She pulled back lightly on the reins and Two slowly came to a stop, exactly as she had been trained to do.

Elrohir walked up to the horse and rider as they came to a standstill a few feet away. He smiled at her as only he could.

"It seems as if I am not the only one who has found his way back to life. You're back, too, Jeren. Finally."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren had taken Elrohir's advice and had not brought up the subject of Glorfindel with the Lord of Imladris. In fact she'd seen him only at meal times for the last few days, ever since Elrohir had begun to train her in riding again. Even had she thought to ease her conscience by explaining to Lord Elrond why Glorfindel had refused to train her, she'd not had the opportunity yet.

But tonight Elrond had invited both her and Elrohir into his study after the evening meal. Neither knew exactly what the Elf lord had in mind to discuss with them, but they were curious to find out.

Meal times had been strained ever since Glorfindel and Elrond had argued. Jeren wondered why the Arms Master did not take his meals elsewhere, since he sat rigidly, not saying a word, at any of the times they were gathered at the table. While he did not in any way appear hostile or angry, it was obvious to all that his humor was less than ideal.

The quiet between the two Elf lords put a somber mood on all present. While he did not speak to Glorfindel at all, Elrond would try to engage the others in conversation, but the results were always weak, and awkward silence inevitably filled the room.

So after the meal this evening, the three of them retired to his study. Elrond led them beyond his desk, to the more informal setting near the fireplace. There was a sofa perpendicular to the hearth, with a low table situated in front of it. On the other side of the table, two matching overstuffed chairs in rich burgundy brocade threaded with gold stood side by side, facing the couch.

Elrohir sank into the luxurious sofa, his arms draped along the back of it, his ankle crossed over one knee. Jeren sat beside him and Lord Elrond seated himself in one of the chairs opposite them.

"Now, would you tell me what has you so excited?" he asked Jeren.

Somewhat taken aback by his abrupt question, Jeren asked, her smile growing with every word, "How do you know there's something I'm about to burst over?"

"All one must do is look at you, Jeren, to know that something is afoot. I tried to get the conversation going during our evening meal, but no one would respond." Elrond raised his brows as he went on, "The air in the dining room lately has been, shall we say, a little _icy_? So I thought to bring you in here to get the story, for I'm sure there's a story to be told."

Jeren and Elrohir looked at each other for a moment, both wearing artful smiles. And then Jeren turned back to the Elf Lord, saying, "I'm riding again. Really riding."

"That's wonderful news!" he exclaimed. "You are taking it slowly, are you not?" This last comment was directed at his son.

Elrohir sat up a little. "Had I taken it any slower, I would have probably fallen asleep!"

Jeren elbowed him in the ribs and he laughed, cringing away from her.

"_Yes_, he's taking it slowly," she said, and in a perturbed tone she added, "had he not been so stubborn, I could have been riding three days ago."

Elrond frowned, as if he needed much more detail, so Jeren said, "He knew all along I was afraid, and he also knew that if I would just calm down and think it all through, I would realize there was nothing to fear. But he did not let me in on his knowledge, so I spent three agonizing days being afraid I would fall." She finished with an insolent stare at the younger Elf in the room.

Elrohir looked at his father and asked, "Could you explain to me why it was my responsibility to tell her something that should have been second nature to her?" As he finished his sentence, he looked smugly at Jeren.

Elrond simply shook his head. "I fear you both are speaking in circles around me…" Secretly the Elf lord was more than pleased to see the playfulness return to these young ones.

"I feel ridiculous, so I must blame someone other than myself!" she said, looking at Elrohir again. Glancing back to Elrond, she added, "It is only that I—for reasons unknown to me—seemed to have forgotten everything I once knew about riding. I forgot how well trained Two is, and that she would never allow harm to come to me. I know there's always a possibility when riding, that a horse may become startled and might shy, but that happens so rarely—especially when riding on the grounds of Imladris—that I truly had nothing to fear. I just did not remember it. I cannot understand how I allowed this to happen and go on for so long."

Elrond sat forward, resting his elbow on the arm of the chair. "I think having the use of one of your limbs taken from you left you feeling vulnerable and afraid, which is a natural reaction. I have had the occasion to minister to warriors a time or two who have entirely lost an arm. Even though all of their other faculties are intact, they pull back at first. And every one has always said exactly the same thing—they feel exposed, as if they are in hostile territory alone with no weapons. It is truly difficult to come to terms with such a catastrophic injury, Jeren. I'd say you aren't that unusual, as far as wounded soldiers go."

"I told her that she had just needed something to remind her that she knew how to ride—how it felt to be on a horse before she was injured." Elrohir grabbed Jeren's right hand for emphasis, which had been lying on the couch between them. "Once she remembered that Two could be ridden without even a bit in her mouth and would respond to subtle commands, she relaxed and was able to ride, almost as well as before."

Elrond looked at the joined hands of two of the people he loved most in the world. By now Elrohir was exercising Jeren's stiff fingers, folding them over his own hand time and again.

Elrond wondered if Elrohir had approached Jeren yet, proclaiming his love for her. She seemed unchanged, as if her feelings for his son were ever the same. She certainly did not appear to be aware of the love that shone clearly in Elrohir's eyes.

He would not speak of it to either of them. He'd learned a harsh lesson with Elladan a few years ago, about meddling in his children's affairs of the heart. If he were truthful, he would have to admit that he had learned it where his sons were concerned, but when it came to Arwen and her desires—well, that was another matter. She was his daughter and he could not allow her to throw her life away in the manner in which she seemed determined to do. And Estel? The anger and hurt of Aragorn's proposal was still fresh in Elrond's mind, even though the subject was years old. It did not bear thinking about at this time.

He wondered if Elrohir was setting himself up for a fall. Jeren had professed her love for Elladan for years, to no avail, since Elladan's feelings for her did not run in the same direction as hers had. It had taken her a long while, but she seemed to have finally gotten over her infatuation with his other son. She'd fallen in love with Rhyse—a Man—as it should be. What if Jeren would not—or could not—return the feelings that Elrohir seemed to be wearing on his sleeve these days?

He hated that his son was risking his heart in this way. The chances that Elrohir would be hurt were staggering. But, on the other hand, it was terrifying to think about what would happen should Jeren accept Elrohir's love. There was always the matter of 'the choice' in the back of Elrond's mind.

The Elf lord was caught off guard when Jeren startled him with a question he did not expect.

"Lord Elrond, was the argument between you and the Arms Master because of me?" She heard the quick intake of breath from Elrohir, but continued anyway. "I've wanted to explain something to you about what happened with me and Lord Glorfindel for awhile, but—"

"No, Jeren," Elrond answered quietly. "The current difficulty between Glorfindel and me involves only the two of us."

"Truly?" she asked. At the Elf lord's nod, she went on, "He will not train me because I was grossly insubordinate to him. He told me to meet him one morning, and I purposely did not. I wasted his time."

"I appreciate your honesty, and I regret your lost opportunity, but I have no chastisement for you since you are well versed in the paying of consequences for ill deeds. For what it was worth, I asked him to give you another chance, but his stubbornness won out."

"Yes I know all too well about ill actions and consequences that result. And now, I, too, am regretting the lost opportunity. But Elrohir has agreed to help me train—with your help, of course."

"I will do what I can," Elrond said. "I think the three of us will be able to accomplish what I'd hoped Glorfindel could achieve in less time. He isn't the Arms Master in Imladris for no good reason; he is the best, and could probably have had you back in good form much faster than Elrohir and I will. But we must work with what we have, not wait for something to change and make things more to our liking. That, too, wastes time."

He got up from his chair. "And speaking of time, I never seem to have enough of it these days. I must get back to work." He crossed the study floor as Jeren and Elrohir got up from their seats.

"I could stay and help you, Father," Elrohir said.

"I'll help, too, if I can," Jeren added.

Elrond smiled, but said, "No, no. It is merely research I must do on my own. But thank you both."

They left him there then, and before they had even closed the door he had immediately become engrossed in a book that was already open on his desk.

As they made their way upstairs, Jeren was thinking about what Lord Elrond had said. He'd told her that the difficulty between he and Lord Glorfindel involved only the two of them, _not_ that she wasn't the cause of the difficulty. She'd spent enough time with Elves over the last ten years to know when they were not being completely honest with her. Not that she ever believed Lord Elrond would lie to her; he just might not tell her the entire truth.

This rift between the two Elf lords had her puzzled, but not only that, it was interfering with everyone here in the Last Homely House, especially those that had to be in the same room with them at meal times. The tension was not good for anyone—especially the two that were directly concerned. She decided she was going to find a way to get them to mend their differences.

As she and Elrohir arrived at her door, she paused with her hand on the knob. "Elrohir, you were there the other night when they had their argument. What was it all about?"

Elrohir looked down the hall both ways, and then answered, "Jeren, why will you not just let this go?" When she continued to stare at him without pause, he finally said, "It isn't for me to say. I do not carry tales." He'd lowered his voice, as if he were afraid that someone might overhear.

"I know you do not," she said with a small bit of annoyance in her voice. "But this must not continue, and the only way to mend it is to know what has them both so stirred up."

Jeren opened her door, and Elrohir followed her inside without any invitation from her, quietly closing the door behind him. He leaned against it, his expression showing that he was wondering what, if anything, to say to her.

He took a deep breath and relaxed. "It was and was not about you, Jeren. That's all I am going to say."

"You Elves and your riddles!" she exclaimed, as she whipped around and went out onto the veranda. As soon as she made it to the railing, she said, "I cannot accept that, Elrohir. I know that my behavior started it all. I know that. But how in the world did it get carried so far that neither is speaking to the other now?"

Elrohir had followed her outside and placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it slightly. "Just let it alone, Jeren," he pleaded.

"How would you feel, Elrohir, if you knew you were at the root of a problem, but no one would tell you the facts? Tell me… How would you feel?"

He smiled wanly and said, "You know I wouldn't like it. But if someone I trusted told me I was better off not knowing, I would believe them and do as they asked."

Jeren laughed without mirth. "Oh sure you would, Elrohir! Right after you beat them to a bloody pulp for not telling you what you wanted to know!"

It had been a long time since she'd felt this old spark in her heart; she only wished it was something else that was causing it. She turned around and started to storm back into her room.

But Elrohir caught her left arm at the elbow, effectively stopping her and turning her back around to face him. "It is not my place. I have never involved myself in matters that were not my own."

"Never, Elrohir? Really?" Jeren asked, now angry. "I know of several times you involved yourself in my business, and it was no business of yours. Tell me again how you never intrude."

"Maybe not all, but _most_ of those times, _you_ came to _me_ with the problem, I did not solicit it."

He watched as she deflated, and it hurt his heart. She'd come so far so fast; he hated to see her unhappy about anything. But could he tell her this? It truly wasn't his place, and he could not take the chance that she would try and put it to rights herself. Then his father would know absolutely that he could not be trusted. That had been an issue between them before in his life, and he did not want to open that old wound again. He put his hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eyes.

"Alright; you win. But at least come sit down, I'm tired of standing here arguing." He led her to the table and pulled a chair out for her, and then seated himself closely beside her.

"The argument started exactly how you think it did—Glorfindel came into my father's study—angry, as he had every right to be—and he told my father he was finished with you. My father wanted to know what had happened, and Glorfindel told him that you were not a serious trainee and he was not going to waste his time on you any longer.

"That irritated my father; I'm not sure why. I suppose because every once in awhile he seems to need to assert his authority, and Glorfindel will not be so easily commanded. So he told Glorfindel that it was unlike him to turn away from any endeavor just because it had become difficult.

"At the time I was unsure why Glorfindel, too, seemed angrier than he should have been, but he was, and he shot back at my father, saying things I would never imagine he would utter."

"Like what, Elrohir?" Jeren asked eagerly. When Elrohir's silence met her question, she insisted, "What else?"

Elrohir didn't want to say more. So he tried to change the subject. "I think you are persisting because you are trying to test my loyalty. The only problem is, I cannot decide which loyalty it is that you are testing—my loyalty to my father, or my loyalty to you. Either way, I think I am bound to fail this test.

"It is not your loyalty at all that I am questioning," Jeren said seriously. "I am challenging what I always thought was our deep and abiding friendship—our love, if you want to say it that way. I have always told you my mind—sometimes you would not leave me be until I did. But when the tables are turned, and it is you who could use counsel, you do not afford me the same courtesy."

Elrohir looked toward the sky, wanting some guidance from the stars that were present. Even the Silmaril he could see shining in the North, on his grandfather Eärendil's brow, seemed remote and offered no counsel.

He knew that if he ever had a prayer of convincing Jeren of his true love for her, he would have to be more open than he had been. And the time was now—she was waiting for him to prove it to her.

He leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table. He scrubbed at his face with his hands for a few seconds, hoping the right words would come to him. He finally sat up straight again and faced her, his expression as open as he could possibly make it.

"This will hurt you, and I wanted that not to happen. But telling you this will prove to you that you have my love, as I know that I have yours. However, what I am telling you must stay in this room. You cannot approach my father or Glorfindel with this information, trying to help them reconcile. That is up to them, and they will accomplish it when they accomplish it."

"You have my word, Elrohir. I will do nothing with this information, nor will I ever utter a word of it."

Elrohir's gaze bored into hers, and had she any doubt before, she did not doubt it now—if she did not keep this promise, Elrohir would find it hard to forgive her, if he ever could.

The Elf took a deep breath and started talking.

"I know you understand about the choice that my family—my father, me, my brother and sister—had or will have to make one day: Whether to stay Elven or to choose to be of the Human race." At Jeren's nod, even though she had a puzzled frown on her face, he went on. "Well, it seems as if my sister has chosen, and my father was devastated by her choice."

Jeren looked at Elrohir for a moment, concern on her face to hear that Elrond was devastated by anything. But she was loath to interrupt, since she finally had him talking.

"It seems that she and Estel—" He halted abruptly, as if this truth hurt him as much as it hurt his father, and then he hurried on. "They have fallen in love, and Arwen has chosen to become Human, so that she will not live eternally without him once he is gone."

Jeren hated to stop him, since he was being so enlightening, but she didn't understand why he was telling her this. "What has this to do with Glorfindel, though, Elrohir?"

"I am getting to that, Jeren. This subject is very difficult to speak of, but it is relevant to the argument my father and Glorfindel had.

"I am extremely happy for both Estel and Arwen, but that does not lessen the pain that losing her one day will bring." He seemed to try and collect himself for a few moments, and then he went on. "Glorfindel understands more than most the pain death brings to someone and to their kin. But he is of the mind that one must grasp happiness when one can, because life can be so fleeting."

He looked at her appraisingly for a few seconds. "You know Glorfindel's story, do you not?"

Jeren shook her head. "Not really. I truly know only that he is a fearsome warrior."

"That is a fact, but knowing his story will help you understand his motivation for saying the things to my father that he did. He is truly ancient, and in the old days of the First Age, after Gondolin fell, he was among those who left that city, flanking the group of survivors so that he could offer some protection. My kin were among those people—my grandfather, Eärendil, was just a child. As they traveled away from the ruined city, the group was assailed by Orcs on a high mountain pass called the Eagle's Cleft. Glorfindel, and others so armed, fought the Orcs in order to save the Gondolin survivors. But an ancient beast was hiding in the rocks of the pass—a Balrog. They are fierce opponents, corrupted by Morgoth. They are huge and horned; winged creatures with the cloven hooves of a goat. They are born of flame and they can breathe fire as a dragon does, and they wield whips of many thongs. Glorfindel met it in challenge, to give the others time and opportunity to escape, and while they were fighting, both the Balrog and Glorfindel fell from the mountainside into a great abyss, where both died."

Despite the gravity of the story he was telling, Elrohir almost smiled at Jeren's rapt attention. Her eyes had grown larger with each word he spoke; instead of looking like the woman she was, she looked as a child might, who was listening to a scary bedtime tale.

"But a great Eagle named Thorondor fetched Glorfindel's body from the great abyss, and the survivors buried him near the pass. They left his grave mounded, and over time, it was covered in verdant grass and small yellow flowers.

"His spirit was admitted into the Halls of Waiting—Mandos' Halls, you might have heard them called—and eventually he was returned to bodily form. He lived in the Undying Lands for a time, but he ultimately made his way to Rivendell, and he has been here ever since.

"And here, he has witnessed my parents' marriage, and subsequently the birth of their three children. We grew up at Glorfindel's knee; he is as much a part of our family as any of the six of us are." At Jeren's confused objection at the number of people he was including in his family, he enumerated them all: "My father and mother, my sister, Elladan, me and Estel. Six of us. Estel came thousands of years after we were children, but Glorfindel was here for his childhood as well as ours. He feels that the Dúnedan is one of his own."

"All right. I can understand all that," Jeren said. "But that's exactly why this difficulty between he and Lord Elrond is so confusing and so hard to accept. I knew not their individual histories, nor if they shared blood; I supposed not, since their features are unalike and their coloring is in such contrast. But that they were close, I never doubted. I assumed, from the murals adorning many of the walls of Imladris, that they fought together in great battles in ancient times, and when the wars were over, neither wanted to part from the other. Lord Elrond became the healer, and did not fight anymore. But Glorfindel took on the protection of all those under this roof. No one ever told me such; I just always felt this great love between them, even though I had nothing on which to base such a feeling."

"You are very insightful, Jeren," Elrohir admitted. "Yes, Glorfindel has sworn protection for my Father's house for long years. But now comes the painful part for you to hear. Painful for everyone, but for you, in particular.

"Some years ago, Estel went to my father professing love for my sister and asking his blessing on their union. My father was so hurt as to become enraged. At first he denied Estel's request absolutely, without any comment or question. He dismissed him without reason or cause. But after he had some time to consider what Estel was asking, and to remember that Arwen is his only daughter, whom he loves more than his own life, he did change his mind about completely denying their marriage. He told Estel that he must—prove himself—before my father would even entertain the idea of such a union."

"Prove himself?" Jeren asked forcefully. "Has he not proved himself already? He is a valiant leader of my people!" As she finished saying that, though, she looked as if another thought had just occurred to her. "Has this anything to do with the fact that he is the Dúnedain Chieftain, Elrohir? That he is the last direct descendant of Isildur?"

"As I said before, you are very insightful."

Jeren pondered what she had heard, wondering just what it meant and what it had to do with her and the argument between the two Elf lords. How did something that happened years ago have bearing on her now? But she kept her curiosity contained for the moment, and decided to simply consider what Elrohir was telling her. She had spent the last several years learning of her Dúnedain heritage, and that included all the interesting facts about Lord Aragorn. Of course it was all very hushed, as his identity had to remain secret to all but a few chosen Elves and the people of the closely-knit settlement. And then another look of dawning overtook her expression.

"You do not mean your father wants Lord Aragorn to go and claim the throne of Gondor, do you?"

"That is what I mean, Jeren." Noting her incredulous expression, Elrohir went on, "We will not go into the particulars now. You know that Orcs and other vile creatures are breeding in our lands, and have been for centuries. But now they have reached such numbers that no one can deny there is more than mere darkness rising. You know why Estel's real identity must be protected, but we will not speak of it now. Perhaps at another time, you and I can sit down and discuss it more fully, but for the sake of this discussion, Estel, if he wishes to marry my sister, must claim the throne of Gondor, which has been under stewardship for the last several centuries. To say it will be a daunting venture is putting it mildly. There will be more than just the mere opposition of the current steward that he will face."

She raised her brows at Elrohir's last remark, but did not say anything. As he'd just told her, that was a discussion for another time. But all that he'd said still didn't explain what she wanted to know.

"Thank you for telling me all this; you know it will go no farther. But these things you have told me hold no hurt for me. What was said that is going to trouble me?"

"As I said earlier, I did not know why Glorfindel was so angry at first, but it soon became clear. He finally told his mind on the entire subject—of what Glorfindel felt was my father's interference with Arwen and Estel. He'd been holding his tongue for a long time, so that is probably why he was so enraged. He wondered how a father—sire to the most beautiful Elleth in all of Arda—could treat her as my father has treated Arwen, let alone Estel. He thinks it unfair that my father insists on this perilous and next to impossible task that must be completed before Estel and Arwen may wed. I told you before about Glorfindel's view on life—live in the present with all that you have, because no one is promised tomorrow."

Jeren nodded quietly, but Elrohir did not continue. "Yes—?" Jeren prompted, for she had no doubt that more was forthcoming. Elrohir still hadn't told her what she wanted to know.

"Glorfindel went on—I'd not seen him this outraged in a very long while—and he said that my father holds you in more esteem than his own daughter these days. That you were only a woman of the _Adan_ and should not be shown any preferential treatment by anyone of this household, especially not the Lord of Imladris."

Jeren was taken aback. This was hurtful, just as Elrohir had told her it would be. She would never have guessed that Glorfindel felt this way; he'd never shown anything but a basic respect toward her. Condescension, yes, but it was not unusual for him to treat everyone in a superior manner at one time or another. But outright prejudice? Never. And while Lord Elrond had always shown love to Jeren, she never thought for a minute that his love for her even approached the love he had for his daughter. She was sure Lord Elrond loved Arwen as a father should love his child.

She was trying not to take this to heart, but the truth was that she held Glorfindel in such esteem, that to hear that he'd voiced such a thing cut her to the core. She thought back to the day of the training session, before she had known of Lord Elrond's plan, and what the Arms Master had said to her.

"_You may take your whining to the Lord of Imladris, but you will find little sympathy there. It is by his order that I train you now. And while you are at it, tell him I said that my dislike of this command he has seen fit to saddle me with does indeed have a basis. He will understand exactly what I mean, if you use the same tone of voice that you are using on me." _

She had thought at the time, that it was her whining that Glorfindel had had enough of, not her personally. Now, she wasn't so sure.

"What should I do about this, Elrohir?" Jeren asked solemnly. "Perhaps it would be better were I to go back to the settlement. I can ride now, so it would be no hardship."

Elrohir took her hand into his and held it on the tabletop. The last thing that he wanted was for Jeren to go anywhere. _Anywhere near Rhyse, to be truthful._ He dismissed that thought as beneath him and enveloped her hand into the two of his.

"You should do nothing about this now. Only remember that Glorfindel is not a mean-spirited Elf. He does not resent your presence here. It is just that he's known and loved Arwen for so long, that he cannot help but want to see her happy. Estel, too. He was lashing out, trying to hurt my father for what he perceives as my father's punishment of my sister.

"Glorfindel said other very harsh things to my father that have no bearing on you, but they were so hurtful that I stood to challenge him, until my father waved me down. But that is why they have not reconciled yet. Much was said, especially by Glorfindel, that has to have time to heal. But it will heal; have no fear."

He brushed the hair away from her face that had escaped her braid. With his voice soft and comforting he told her, "Do not let this hurt you overlong; only for a moment. Then let it go. There is nothing you can or should do about this. I know my father has his reasons for this hard demand of his, but he is not ready to discuss it yet, with anyone. I've tried.

"I'm sure he is waiting for Glorfindel's temper to cool, and when it does, they will meet again and my father will tell Glorfindel his mind on the subject. I would love to be present; my curiosity about the whole affair is boundless. They have fought before, though it has been a rare occurrence, and they have always come to accord quickly. This, too, they will see mended, but in their own time.

"But Glorfindel does not hold prejudice—that I know of—toward Humans at all. It might seem that way at times, but I think he is merely careful of your race, lest he gets too close and hurts boundlessly when they leave him at death."

He kissed her forehead and looked into her eyes. She smiled weakly, but that was not how he wanted to leave things between them. So he went back to old, tried and true tactics to get Jeren's blood going again.

Looking at her with a playful smile, he said, "I tried to tell you that you did not want to know what was said. When are you going to learn to trust what I tell you?"

Jeren laughed and laid her head on Elrohir's shoulder. She could always count on Elrohir to make her feel better. She loved him with all her heart.

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	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

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Jeren and Elrohir were back out in the corral the next day, but not until after they'd gone to the armory to begin Jeren's training. They went to the armory's main exercise room, where trainees always gathered first thing in the morning to put themselves through strength and endurance exercises, as well as those movements used specifically in sword training—the ones Jeren had watched Glorfindel perform last week.

Today, though, the room had been empty, since the officers and the novices were out on a training mission. It seemed strange to Jeren that she and Elrohir were the only ones there, but it didn't take long for her to relax. After all, it was less nerve-wracking; there were no Elves to gawk at her as she made all the mistakes she knew she would make, trying to use her left arm for anything. Since the trainees here in Rivendell were all Elves, they seemed so perfect that even when Jeren had been whole, she'd felt shabby and inept compared to them. And they hadn't helped any. They'd taunted and bullied her just as they did each other—it was part of their training. It was when she realized that she wasn't being singled out that she had turned the corner on her feelings of inferiority. And somehow she had overcome her lack of esteem around them and had learned everything they had to teach her. It was probably her stubborn determination to get accepted by the Dúnedain that had kept her going through all the heartache.

She shuddered to think how she'd feel next to them now.

One whole wall was mirrored, and even though Jeren was using a wooden training sword, Elrohir insisted she make every movement as well as she could make it, which was not very well at all, since she could not grasp the sword with both hands. Almost all the exercises for sword utilized two hands on the hilt.

There would be many such adjustments to make, if she were to ever use a sword in battle again. Only time would tell if she would regain enough use of her right arm to ever wield this weapon with two hands, as she used to do. If she could not, then her career as a ranger might well be over. Her opponents were always male—whether they were sparring partners or enemy Orcs—and so far in her life, she had never been strong enough to best a male in other than two-handed sword fighting. She had not allowed herself to think about whether she'd ever use her bow again.

She ran through the exercises the first time, using her left hand. It felt completely foreign, causing her to stop midway through because she'd gotten it wrong. Elrohir's quiet patience kept her from becoming discouraged. She would start again each time she stopped, not letting it dampen her spirit.

Just before they were about to leave the armory, Elrohir took the sword from her left hand and pressed it into her right, holding it there with his own hand. He thought that if he laid his right arm down along hers, he might be able to feel the tensing and relaxing of her limb and sense if the correct muscles were working or not. Since he didn't know what to look for, and hadn't bothered his father with asking about it yet, he hoped that he would be able to feel what Glorfindel had told Jeren he would be able to see if she wore sleeveless training shirts.

When he'd grasped her right hand in his, it had been necessary for him to press the front of his body closely against the back of hers, with his left hand resting at her waist. Jeren looked at Elrohir strangely when he'd first done this. While they'd always been close, this was almost an intimate pose. She'd hesitated when he'd taken up this stance, but he had not; he simply kept up the motions he had in mind for her to do.

"Am I hurting you?" he asked after several minutes had passed. "I'm gripping your hand pretty fiercely."

"No, I can't really feel it, Elrohir," she said, and he could hear the melancholy threaten to spill out somewhere behind her voice, even though she was trying to keep a positive attitude. But his query had had the desired effect—she was no longer questioning their positions, and he could keep on trying to help her—as well as be closer to her than he had ever been before.

So he continued and at one point, he saw Glorfindel pause just outside the door. Elrohir was facing the mirror and had a complete picture of the back wall and the doorway behind him. Jeren was concentrating so hard on doing the exercises that she did not seem to notice the appearance of the ancient Elf.

Elrohir wanted to laugh; he could sense the gears in the Arms Master's brain clicking away as he took Jeren through the movements that should strengthen her arm. That Glorfindel was finding things wrong, Elrohir had no doubt. Perfection was something the Arms Master always tried to instill into his trainees.

But Elrohir had no such tendency toward exact precision. While he did want things done correctly, in this case, just going through the proper motions was what he was after. As Jeren's arm strengthened, he would then be able to afford to work toward more perfect form.

As time ticked on, and Glorfindel continued to watch from the doorway, Elrohir wondered just how far from perfection he could stray before the Arms Master would not be able to resist correcting them. He smiled to himself, but did not stop.

Instead, he deliberately took the motions out of the usual sequence in which the Elves of Imladris always performed these exercises, and exaggerated the movement, making it larger and wider. When he saw Jeren wince in pain after several repetitions, he stopped.

"I think we've done enough of this today. I believe, after you've ridden some, we'll go to the spring and soak your arm there. It's nice and cold, even at this time of year; that should take a bit of the soreness out."

But instead of completely letting go of her, he kept hold of her hand, so the sword would not drop. He moved to her right, and held onto the blade of the training sword, keeping the hilt pushed against the palm of Jeren's right hand. "Now try and grasp the sword," he said. As she concentrated on doing as he'd asked, Elrohir glanced toward the doorway and saw that Glorfindel had gone.

As she focused he could tell she was expending great effort. Her first two fingers and thumb moved toward the hilt of the sword slowly, in tiny increments of movement. Elrohir had noticed last week that the last two fingers seemed to be curving in toward her hand more every day, and today they were not moving at all. He feared that they were probably always going to be immobile, nor would they be able to help her grasp anything.

He tested her grip, which was all but non-existent, by slowly letting go of her hand, but keeping a hold on the blade of the sword. As her fingers met the wood, she looked at him, a tremulous smile ghosting her lips. She was able to keep her fingers touching the wooden hilt for several more seconds, and Elrohir eased his grip on the blade to see if she had any strength at all in these fingers. The sword sagged, but Jeren was able to keep it from falling, until the effort became too great. With a loud exhalation, she let go, and Elrohir caught the sword and lowered it to his side. He raised one brow and smiled back at her.

"Progress… Just a few days ago these fingers could not move that far inward. I think you may be exercising them on your own, aren't you?"

"Yes, Elrohir," she said as she caught her breath. "When I get up in the morning and before I go to bed at night, I do the exercises for both my arm and my hand—the ones your father was trying to get me to do all along, but which I had no heart to do. I seem to have found the strength in me again, and it feels truly wonderful."

"I'm glad, Jeren," he said, as he returned the wooden sword to the rack where the others were. He walked back toward her and took her right hand into his, and she instinctively tried to wrap her fingers around his.

Spontaneous movement. That was something new. They smiled at each other and left the armory.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Elrohir soon had Two saddled and bridled, and before long, Jeren was mounted. The lunge line was in place, with Elrohir holding it loosely as the horse and rider walked around the corral. Jeren kicked Two up into a trot, and went two circles around the corral at that gait. Then she urged the mare into a full canter. Elrohir watched with growing admiration for the woman, who he'd brought home almost two months ago with hardly a prayer of retaining her arm.

Jeren slowed Two down and approached Elrohir. "Could I _please_ try riding bareback?" At Elrohir's doubtful expression, she repeated, "_Please_?"

The Elf helped her down and removed Two's saddle and blanket, and then offered his hands, with the fingers laced together, as a step up, so that she could mount.

She placed her left foot into his joined hands, all the while holding onto the reins and a handful of Two's mane with her left hand. Elrohir told her to lean against his shoulder and neck for extra security, and he could use that leverage to boost her upward as well. It took them two attempts, but she was finally atop her horse and ready to give riding bareback a try.

As soon as she was securely mounted, she asked, "Could we please take the long line off?"

He pretended to give her request some serious thought, then smiled as he unlatched the long leather rein from Two's bridle. "Only if you promise not to be too reckless. My father would kill me if you broke your neck at this point."

Jeren laughed and agreed, promising not to take any dangerous liberties, and then started Two off again, first at a walk, then up to a trot.

"Easy," he prompted, but he needn't have bothered. He knew she was being as careful as she could be. Jeren had never been one to stray too far from the straight and narrow, especially where safety was concerned. Of course there had been the matter of her wanting to become a ranger with the Dúnedain, and her stubbornness in regard to being out in the wild alone. There was also her rescue of him a couple of years ago, that was neither safe nor of good judgment. But to her that had been a life and death situation, and she had placed his safety and comfort above her own. Not like her, really, but his admiration for her had risen higher as a result, even though he would never tell her that. What she had done could have gotten them both killed. He'd explained her folly to her, and she understood, so he felt very confident that such an idea would not be crossing her mind again anytime soon. As her killing of five Orcs alone had attested, she could act rashly on occasion, but she mostly had a level head, and he really did trust her judgment.

As she cantered around the corral, Elrohir studied her. _She's sitting up straighter;_ he thought, _better than yesterday already. Her confidence is rising._

Then something caught his eye that he'd not noticed before. Her right arm was more rigid than it had been before when she rode. Perhaps it was the fact that today she'd worn one of her training shirts that had been altered—the sleeves had been removed—and he could see her entire arm. Before when she rode, it dangled and bounced, almost as if it were boneless. Today it seemed to have a small bit of muscle tone to it. She held it against her side, her hand on her right thigh. She was using it, consciously or not.

Elrohir was looking at what, to him, was poetry in motion. Jeren's right side was facing him as she urged Two up to a canter. As he watched she quickened the mare's pace. She leaned forward at the hips slightly, her legs gripping the horse's sides.

_She is riding,_ he thought, _almost as well as before. Her form is perfect… She… is…_

"Beautiful…"

Jeren glanced at him as she slowed Two down. "What did you say, Elrohir?"

The Elf almost blushed, being caught watching her, not as a teacher should have been, but more like a lover.

"I said you're doing beautifully."

Jeren pulled Two to a stop right beside Elrohir. "You do not know how much I would give to be able to jump that fence and go galloping across the fields of Imladris." Her longing gaze lingered on the green expanse that enticed her just beyond the rails of the corral.

Before she knew what was happening, Elrohir had leapt up behind her and closed his arms around her as he took the reins. He kicked Two into a gallop around the corral, and then gave the mare her head as he urged her over the fence.

Jeren's first instinct was to close her eyes and hold on for dear life, but she did not give in to that temptation. The reassurance of Elrohir's strong embrace gave her courage as they sailed over the top rail of the corral; she let her spirit sail free. It was the next best thing to riding alone, and she wanted to take pleasure in every second of it.

They rode at a gallop toward the spring that Elrohir had told her about earlier. He did not slow their pace until they entered the trees, which closed over the dirt path that would take them to the ice-cold water.

The path led a short way into a copse of oaks, and then the trees opened up to reveal a shaded pool. Soft grass and ferns surrounded the water, the ground so green it almost did not seem real. Peeking out from the ferns were several large, fallen rocks surrounding the spring that had tumbled from higher ground centuries ago.

Jeren was laughing, exhilarated from the flight over the fence and the short gallop to the pool. Elrohir slid off Two and held his hands upward, to help Jeren down. She slid off Two's back and into Elrohir's arms, and he held her there, looking into her eyes for several seconds. He wanted very much to kiss her parted lips, but his courage fled as quickly as his desire had flared.

She disentangled herself from his hands and walked swiftly to the pool. She knelt beside it, immersing her fingers into the icy water.

"Elrohir, you are not sane if you think I'm going to submerge _any_ part of my body in this. It's frigid!"

"I know it's cold," he said in an appeasing tone, "but you need its healing qualities." He took her right arm into his hands. "You probably cannot tell, but your arm is swelling; I fear I may have worked it too hard this morning."

She craned her eyes downward to see, but Elrohir was right; she couldn't tell. "Then what are you proposing?"

He momentarily considered just throwing her in, but remembered that with her injured arm, she wouldn't be able to swim. So, instead, he abruptly picked her up and jumped with her into the water. He'd landed in the deepest part of the pool, which was over his head, and as soon as he touched bottom, he kicked off to send them to the surface.

They exploded out of the water—literally—with Jeren sputtering and coughing. She wanted badly to slap him, but she knew it would be reckless to let go of him, so she had him in a strangling hold around his neck as she tried to regain normal breathing.

He held on to her as he swam to one side, where he could hold her in the water and still touch the bottom. He had no intention of letting her out of his grasp, because she would not only haul off and hit him, she would want to get out of the freezing water.

When he found a place to stand, he pinned her arms to her sides in a rigid bear hug. By now she was over the shock of unexpectedly hitting the frigid water, and her scowl spoke volumes, as did her tone. Her teeth chattered as she shivered, and at the same time gave him a piece of her mind.

"What do you think you are doing? You _are_ insane!" She struggled mightily. Elrohir cursed his lapse in judgment in not turning her around before she'd regained her composure. She was trying desperately to knee him in tender places, and he was practically dancing as he tried to keep out of her reach, but still retain a hold on her.

She finally wore herself out. "Elrohir—let me go! Why are you torturing me this way?"

Instead of answering her, he began speaking quietly in Elvish, the same words she had heard him use on occasions when horses were spooked or otherwise being stubborn.

"Elrohir, I'm going to smack you the minute I can!" she shouted, but his response was to immerse her deeper into the water, so that she was submerged up to her chin. She struggled again, trying to break his hold, which she knew she could not do, even with two good arms. "Your Elvish is not appeasing me," she said through chattering teeth.

He looked into her eyes, their lashes spiky with dampness, and didn't think she'd ever looked prettier. Of course Jeren's was not a classic beauty, but her gray eyes were flashing fire, and Elrohir watched her set her jaw in grim determination, even through her chattering teeth.

He would gladly accept whatever punishment she doled out when he could finally allow her to quit the spring, but for now, whether she realized it or not, she needed the coldness the water provided. He hoped he'd not reinjured the break in her arm, with all the exercising he'd had her doing, but he didn't want to alarm her by telling her that. For now, he'd just let her believe he was being mean for meanness' sake.

When it became apparent that Elrohir had no intention of either letting her go or answering her, Jeren sunk into sulky silence. She finally relaxed and placed her chin on his shoulder. He loosened his rigid hold on her, although he did not let down his guard.

He hummed a gentle tune for her, hoping to soothe her savage soul, but he could not tell if it had had any effect on her by the time he was done. But also, by the time he was finished with the little song, he knew he'd kept her in the water quite long enough. So he moved closer to the edge of the spring, and then lifted her out, setting her on the bank.

She stood without a word and walked toward Two. How she wanted to leap up onto the mare's back and just leave this ornery Elf behind, but she could not—not only that, she needed his help to even get on at all.

They were soon mounted and on their way back to the house. Elrohir had Two up to a trot until they cleared the trees, but then slowed, allowing some of the water to drip from their clothes, as well as letting the sun warm them some. He stopped and dismounted close to one of the back entrances of the house, tying Two to a post, and he reached up to help Jeren down. As soon as she was firmly on the ground, she slapped his face—hard.

He'd known she was going to hit him, but he did not try to evade her hand. "If you're finished, let's go in and get you into some dry clothes," he told her. She still hadn't said a word to him. He led the way, but when she expected him to take the corridor toward the stairs, he kept on the way he'd been going. This direction would take them to the Healing Halls. She tried to step around him and make her own way, but he took her hand again, and tugged her along with him.

"Elrohir, am I going to have to slap you again?" she asked, as she tried to keep up with his long strides.

"No, that won't be necessary," he said, but he continued the way he was determined to go. They reached the Healing Halls in short order, and as Elrohir shoved through the double doors to enter, he called out to one of the aids that he saw.

"Gondien, would you go find my father and ask him to come here, please? He should look at Jeren's arm."

While Gondien was gone, Elrohir found several blankets and a robe, and led Jeren to a screen, instructing her to get out of her wet clothes and get warm.

"I'm going to my room, Elrohir," Jeren said, clearly annoyed.

"Not until my father looks at your arm, Jeren," Elrohir said calmly, although Jeren could tell he was not calm. She frowned at him.

"You're starting to scare me, Elrohir."

"I don't mean to, Jeren, but my father needs to see this." He placed his hand around her arm, up near the scar where the break was, and Jeren was appalled to see it was swelled so much his fingers didn't meet around the circumference of her limb. "Do you need some help, getting out of these wet clothes?" he asked.

"No," she said vaguely, and she took the robe and blankets from him and went behind the screen. As she began to disrobe, she realized she could have used some help, since soggy, wet leggings were hard to pull off with only one hand. She might have tried using her injured arm this time, since it had seemed to be better—except for this horrendous swelling—but she feared injuring it more badly.

As she wrapped the robe around herself, she heard Lord Elrond enter the Healing Halls.

"What is wrong with Jeren?" she could hear him ask Elrohir.

"I was training her and all went well, but by the time we were finished, her arm began to swell. So I took her to the cold spring and kept her soaking in there for upwards of half an hour, but it did no good. I am sorry, Father. I hope I have not harmed her."

Jeren smiled to herself at Elrohir's almost frightened tone. Not wanting to prolong his discomfort, even though he did deserve it, she emerged from behind the screen.

Elrond's brows rose as he saw her. He placed his hands on either side of her face and said, "Your lips are blue."

"And it's no wonder," she said, accusingly toward Elrohir. "Your son tried to drown me in the spring, and then would not let me out when I asked him to." She was trying to bait Elrohir, hoping to lift his spirits, but he would not be baited. The concern on his face would have made her laugh, if he hadn't looked so very forlorn.

Elrond led her to the nearest examining table and helped her to sit on it. He asked her to show him her injured limb, so she loosened the robe and let it dip down past her right shoulder, exposing her upper arm. Elrohir left the bedside to go stand near the window.

Elrond took her arm into his hands, and Jeren almost purred at how warm he was. As he held it, she felt his healing essence surround her, and she could tell she was warming up by degrees. _Elves…_

He took her arm completely out of the robe's sleeve, moving it gently in every direction it could move. When he was satisfied, he told her she could pull the robe over her again, and he stood back as she did so.

Elrohir returned to stand before them. "I am sorry, father. Perhaps my helping train her is not such a good idea after all."

"Elrohir," Elrond scolded, "the swelling is simply from overuse. There is no new fracture at the mended site. It is only the muscles unused to being used."

Elrohir let out a relieved sigh. "Thank Ilúvatar."

"_Now_ may I go get dressed in something warmer?" she asked.

Elrond nodded, and she jumped from the table, obviously none the worse for wear.

Elrohir watched her go, not saying anything to her, but soon followed her out without another word to his father.

Elrond just shook his head and went back to his study to work.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

That evening Jeren was in her room getting ready for bed. She'd recovered completely from her sudden dip in the icy spring, and even though her arm was sore, the swelling had lessened. As soon as she had her night dress on, she stepped out onto her veranda and looked up at the night sky. It was so beautiful—like a rich deep blue velvet cloth that someone had scattered diamonds over, and they sparkled and shone brightly.

She sat at the table, completely comfortable in the balmy summer evening. She supposed if she were anywhere else she wouldn't be allowed to be out here in such attire, but the Elves all went about their business, and if anyone ever noticed her outside on such a night, no one ever remarked about it.

She thought about the evening—about the evening meal more exactly. It was a sedate affair again, since Lord Glorfindel and Lord Elrond still weren't seeing eye to eye. But what baffled her most was Elrohir—he was almost as withdrawn tonight as he had been a month ago, when something—he'd never told her what—had been bothering him. She hoped he wasn't again slipping into that awful mood he'd been in before.

She was surprised when there was a knock on her door. It was fairly late for anyone to be needing anything from her. She called out for whomever it was to enter, but they only quietly knocked again.

Frowning, she got up and went to the door and opened it, about to tell someone to grow a pair of ears, but it was Elrohir standing there, and before she could say a word, he had his arms around her and was embracing her closely.

"What is it, Elrohir?" she asked, while trying to push away from him. She wanted him to snap out of this mood, and she couldn't tell him so without looking him right in the eyes.

But instead of answering her, he took her face into his hands, looked into her eyes for several seconds, and then placed a deep searing kiss on her lips. She was so surprised, she didn't react at all. She did not kiss him in return, nor did she push him away.

He finally stood back and gave her a searching look as he said, "I never want to hurt you, ever again." And he left just as suddenly as he'd arrived.

****o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**-o-o-o-o**

**A/N: A sincere thanks to all the reviewers! Song in the Woods, Livia09, Sadie Sil, Brandibuckeye, Lady Anne, Teacalm, and Elfinabottle. I wouldn't be able to continue without your ongoing support.  
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	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren stood in shock for several seconds after Elrohir had kissed her. Keeping her hand on the door frame, she leaned out, watching as he retreated down the hallway toward his own room.

"You didn't hurt me, Elrohir!" she shouted. But the Elf did not turn around; he reached his door and went inside without ever looking back. She pursed her lips. She knew he'd heard her, yet he hadn't acknowledged she'd even spoken. She contemplated going right to his room and having this out with him now. But she hesitated, and she wondered what was stopping her. With a shake of her head, she went back inside and closed her door.

Confused, she reached up and touched her mouth gingerly, as if Elrohir's kiss might have burned her lips. She had no idea what this was about. She'd never had any indication from him that their relationship had changed.

_Or had she?_

She thought back over the past few weeks, the almost intimate positions she'd wondered about during their training sessions. And several times he'd held her at arm's length, staring at her, his gaze unsettling her in some vague way. When she thought about it, his entire attitude had been different lately. He was usually confrontational toward her, arguing for argument's sake, and that seemed to have vanished. That alone had confused her, but she had chalked it up to his being preoccupied by whatever had been bothering him for the past few months.

She thought again about the different way he'd been looking at her. Was it—_longing_? No! Of course not! This was Elrohir, for Valar's sake.

She was startled when another knock sounded on the door. Thinking it was Elrohir again, coming back to let her in on the joke he'd just played on her, she opened it, saying, "What is it now, Elrohir? Do you wish to enlighten me on the jest—" Her voice trailed off as she met Elrond's eyes…

"I'm sorry, my lord; please come in."

Elrond smiled crookedly, looking as if he wondered just what he had stumbled into. He entered the room carrying a roll of bandage and a bowl of some sort of poultice. A small towel was slung over one of his forearms.

"I assume this is for me?" she asked, indicating the supplies he bore.

"Yes, it is." He noted she was about to protest, so he went on without giving her a chance to argue. "Your arm might seem better tonight—I see it is less swollen—but believe me; if I do not apply this, you will not be able to lift your arm tomorrow without much effort and pain. This will loosen the overused muscles and take some of the soreness away. You might not have to miss any days of training at all if you will only bear with me now."

"Where should I sit?" she asked, resigned to her fate. Lord Elrond's face registered a small amount of surprise—at having won the battle before the war had even started.

"It is a very nice night; why not here?" he asked, as he indicated the table on the veranda. "I am sorry for making you wait so long, but as I often do of late, I became engrossed in something I was studying and the time got away from me."

"It is no matter, my lord," she answered.

Her sleeping dress was sleeveless, so she didn't have to disrobe in order for him to apply the poultice. He got right to work, smearing the green mixture on her arm, around the scar that was there.

She hissed in a breath. "It's so cold!" she announced.

"It is supposed to be, Young One," he said. "I mixed it this afternoon and had it placed into the same spring that my son dumped you into earlier today, so it is indeed quite cold. Also, I do not usually put much mint or rosemary in my poultices for sore muscles, but in this case, with the swelling present, I found that was exactly what was needed, and that tends to heighten the chill. I am somewhat surprised that it bothers you. I thought you were all but numb here."

Jeren smiled almost shyly. "Some of the feeling has returned."

"That is wonderful," Elrond said, smiling again, too.

"I've always had sensation toward the inside of my arm, but lately, as time passes and I exercise more, the feeling seems to be spreading outward."

They were quiet while Elrond finished applying the poultice. He then wound the bandage around her arm, and when he'd finished tying it, he took her right hand into his and looked at it intently. He flexed her fingers, paying the most attention to the last two, which tended to stay curled all the time. He flattened them, and then let them go, and they sprang back into the same position as before. He frowned a little, dropping her hand, then stood for a moment studying her face. She seemed to gaze at the faraway stars in the night, but he could tell she was not really seeing them. The fact that she hadn't immediately noticed his scrutiny only proved to him that she had something on her mind.

"Dear One," he said, "is there anything I might help you with? You seem troubled tonight."

"Not troubled, my lord," she answered vaguely, still staring at the nighttime sky. "Just puzzled." She pondered whether she ought to tell him her dilemma, then looked at him, having made her decision. "Elrohir just kissed me," she announced. "Not a sweet little peck on the forehead, either. Your son gave me a real, passionate kiss. What could have possibly possessed him?"

Elrond turned away, but not before Jeren noticed the expression on his face, an expression that shouted to her that he knew exactly what had transpired and why. He began tidying up, using the towel that he'd brought to wipe small dots of poultice off the table, and then he picked up the bowl, and started walking back inside toward the door.

But having seen the startlement on his face, she wasn't about to let him get away without at least explaining what had caused him to react in this way.

"My lord?" she said as she rose.

Elrond stopped abruptly and looked at her. "Yes?" he asked, as if he were innocent of ignoring her question about his son and ignorant as to what she might want of him. "It is very late, Jeren. You need your rest."

Her smile was joyless. "I need answers more than I need sleep."

He heaved a big sigh. "You do not need answers from me, Young One. The answers you seek can only be found from one source—my son."

"But you know something," she insisted. "I can see it on your face."

"I am not at liberty to be telling you anything concerning my son's actions. It is not my place."

"I am getting very tired of Elves telling me that. First Elrohir and now you."

He turned his confused eyes on her. "What do you mean?"

"Never mind about that," she answered. She was determined he would not distract her. "Why did Elrohir kiss me, Lord Elrond?"

"Again, that is something—"

She tilted her head to one side, allowing her stubbornness to shine forth, and showing him she would not relent until she had some sort of explanation from him.

He gave her a resigned look, as if she had finally been successful in prying this secret from him—but his comment was just another diversion. "I suppose he was showing his affection for you. Is that not what kisses usually symbolize?"

Exasperated, she retorted, "Yes, but you know something—something he's told you. What is it, my lord?"

"I make it a practice to keep out of my sons' affairs of the heart," he said wisely.

"Since when?" she exclaimed and was immediately contrite. She had no call to be rude to him. "I am sorry for being disrespectful, but your statement confuses me. You had no problem telling me about your reluctance toward accepting any relationship Elladan and I might have had. Why the change, now that we're speaking of Elrohir?"

"The incident to which you refer is precisely the reason, Jeren," he said, his expression becoming even more solemn. "Elladan was incensed when he found I'd been speaking to you about your relationship with him, in particular the choice all of my children will face. He had no difficulty in voicing that I had no business minding his affairs. And he was completely right. I apologized to him, but I find that I neglected to apologize to you. Let me rectify that now—I am sorry. And I will never do it again." Once more he began approaching the doorway for a quick escape.

Jeren was momentarily taken off the track by his comment. Since Elrohir had spoken to her about Lord Elrond's interference in Arwen and Aragorn's 'affairs of the heart', she knew that Lord Elrond still found it permissible to insinuate himself into his children's lives. However, what he had _said_ was that he made it a practice to keep out of his _sons_' affairs of the heart—not his _daughter_'s nor his _children_'s, but specifically his sons'. The unfairness of this idea almost had her protesting to him. Yet as she thought about these things, an idea dawned on her, allowing her to see through his prolonged speech. He was only trying to divert her from her quest to find out all that he knew. She had to try again; this was too important to her, and she was certain he knew what Elrohir's behavior was about.

"Please, Lord Elrond?" she asked, her voice pleading. She suddenly realized why she had hesitated before, instead of just running down the hallway and confronting Elrohir right when it happened. "I'm afraid; for exactly the same reason you spoke to me about before, when it was Elladan I could not get out of my heart. And also because I've always loved Elrohir, and I know he's always loved me. But not the kind of love he was expressing just a little while ago. Please help me..."

He set the bowl down upon her bedside table, and then placed his hands on her shoulders. "Are you saying you might have romantic feelings for Elrohir?"

She wavered before answering, unsure as to how to respond. Finally, she said, "No, I am not saying that— I mean Yes! Oh, I do not know what I mean… But I am afraid he might feel that way about me. I'd not hurt him for the world. I'm supposed to be in love with Rhyse, and I would hate it if I thought I would hurt Elrohir in any way."

"You are _supposed_ to be in love with Rhyse?" he asked her with some surprise. "I thought there was no doubt of that."

"I thought not either," she said. "But, as you know, we did not part on very good terms when he left here. I am not sure how I feel about him anymore."

"I would love to reassure you, Jeren, but I am not who you need to be speaking to about this," Elrond replied. "Rhyse is. And Elrohir is. Go to my son in the morning and find out what he is about. Give him the chance to tell you himself. It truly is not something I can discuss. Even if I could breach that principle, betraying my son, I could not breach it regardless, because I am also his healer. That alone precludes my telling you." He let his hands drop from her shoulders, and he seemed as if he battled with himself just before he added, "I think you already know the answer to your question, but it is something you must discuss with him."

He picked up the bowl he'd come with. "Good night, Young One." He looked at her soberly for a moment before he added, "Do not worry. All will work out as it should."

Jeren watched the door close as the Elf lord left her room. Now she was in even more upheaval than before, if that were possible. What Lord Elrond had said—about being Elrohir's healer—left her cold. Was there something wrong with Elrohir that he was keeping secret? And if there was, what could it be? She had always understood that Elves did not take sick as Humans did. If that was the case, what in the world could Lord Elrond be ministering to his son for, as his healer?

She plopped down on her bed, at a complete loss as to what she should do. Part of her wanted to know right now—but part of her didn't. What would she do if Elrohir proclaimed his love for her—his romantic love? How did she feel about that?

She rose and blew out the candles, and then turned the wick down on the lamp beside the bed. She drew the filmy curtains across the doorway out to the veranda. The room was in darkness now, except for the moonlight, which filtered in through the sheer drapes that drifted gently in the nighttime breeze. She slid beneath the sheets, trying to relax.

"_I think you already know the answer to your question…"_

Jeren thought about Lord Elrond's words. So it was true—Elrohir had somehow come to love her in a romantic way. At least, that's how she was interpreting the Elf lord's statement. But maybe he just didn't know what else to say. His remarks were vague enough, so that Elrohir would not feel betrayed should he hear that his father had told her this.

She tried to get comfortable again, flinging the linen off of her. _Relax,_ she told herself…

But it wasn't to be. She couldn't stop thinking about Elrohir and how she would react if he did indeed tell her on the morrow that he loved her. _What __would__ she __do?_

She loved Elrohir; she always had. But she did not think they got along well enough to ever consider being a couple. _Did__ they? _But not only that, could she ever feel that way about him? It was a concept she had never allowed herself to even ponder, since Elrohir could be the oil to her water—they did not seem to mix at times.

She yawned as she lay there, finally relaxing. She pulled the covers back up to her chin, and then she touched her lips again, remembering the fiery kiss. When she thought about it—truly thought about it—had it been anyone other than Elrohir who had kissed her, she would have had to confess that it had been a very exciting as well as thorough kiss.

She turned onto her left side and watched the curtain as it wafted into the room, and then relaxed back as the breeze died away. She was very tired, which surprised her. Of course she'd worked hard this morning in the armory, and Elrohir had shocked her twice—first when he'd jumped into the pool with her, and then just a short while ago by kissing her out of the blue. But she'd done nothing to warrant this sudden and overwhelming weariness. Who would have ever thought that Jeren, daughter of Anardil, would be bested by a dip in a frigid spring or a few paltry arm exercises?

And then it suddenly struck her; Lord Elrond had rested his hands on her shoulders for several minutes. The sneaky Elf lord had decided to help her get the rest she needed, according to his pronouncement, so he had imparted healing sleep on her! She yawned deeply, unable to keep her eyes open any longer.

She would have to speak to him about being so deceptive…

Sometime tomorrow…

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The following morning, Jeren woke up late, groggy and disoriented, as she usually was when she had partaken of Lord Elrond's healing sleep. From the brightness of the sky, she knew it had to be considerably past dawn, and she'd probably missed the morning meal. As she lay there trying to get her brain to function, she abruptly remembered the night before and Elrohir's sudden and unexpected kiss. She threw the covers back and got out of bed.

Sluggish, it took her several minutes to get herself together for the day. As soon as she was finished, she headed out her door. She hesitated in the hallway just outside her room. She wanted to go knock on Elrohir's door, but was afraid he might be there. Elves were forever talking riddles and conundrums, when it was to their advantage, as Lord Elrond had demonstrated so aptly last night. She wanted to be completely lucid when she next dealt with Elrohir. Clearing her head before she even thought to attempt any sort of conversation with him this morning would be the best idea. So she turned the opposite direction and headed down the stairs.

Jeren greeted Bellasiel as soon as she entered the kitchen, and then begged the cook for a cup of tea. Of course all the Elves were busy cleaning the pots, pans and dishes from the morning meal. But Bellasiel took pity on the girl, who looked as if she'd had too much wine the previous night, and sat her down at the small table in the corner by the door. In short order Jeren had a steaming cup of tea before her, and she dosed it heavily with honey and then took a long sip, blowing on it beforehand to cool it. Her stomach growled loudly, and she lamented that she'd slept through breaking her fast. Bellasiel set a biscuit slathered in butter and topped with strawberry jam down in front of Jeren, as if the Elf had read Jeren's mind or, at the very least, had heard the woman's stomach's rumbling.

As Jeren slowly drank the tea, she again thought about what she would say to Elrohir, if he told her what she thought he was going to tell her. And she still had no idea what her answer would be. But as she thought about Elrohir, Rhyse ghosted across her mind. Although Elrohir's kiss really shouldn't have anything to do with Rhyse, given that Jeren was very confused about Elrohir's motive, Rhyse was still on her mind. So far, Jeren had avoided thinking about Rhyse and her relationship with him; it was too painful and fraught with difficulty.

_How did she even feel about Rhyse at this point?_

Rhyse had all but told her that he could not face it if she were no longer a ranger. He had said that, if not in those exact words. But he'd been angry, because she had not been herself. She had been needy and sullen, unable to find joy in anything. What man would be attracted to that?

But she'd found herself again—_with __Elrohir__'__s __help. _Did all roads have to lead back to Elrohir? That made this dilemma all the more confusing.

She reminded herself she still did not know what Elrohir's intentions were; that all this thought was premature. She knew that she'd purposely kept thoughts of Rhyse out of her mind since he'd left, but it was something she needed to sort out—the sooner the better, no matter what Elrohir had meant by his kiss.

She bit into the savory biscuit, relishing the sweetness of the butter and jam. That made her think about cooking—and being a wife. Since she would probably never be a ranger again, what possible good was she as a wife to Rhyse? She couldn't cook—not really. What little cooking she'd done, back when her mother was sick, consisted mainly of making watery soups and lumpy stews. And her bread or biscuits? Forget those completely! And sewing? She'd once tried to sew and it was a disaster. Her mother had gently told her to go outside and practice with her longknife, that sewing just wasn't one of her talents.

And the matter of children did not even bear thinking about. No, as a wife and not a ranger, she truly had nothing to offer Rhyse. It wouldn't be fair of her to marry him; not the way she was now. And who was to say he would even accept her at all, with her deficiencies? Even though she was now admitting that her hand and arm might work to some degree, she did not think it would ever be to the point that she could once more take up her weapons, not in the capacity that she had before—as a ranger. She did not believe she would ever be able to fight in their ranks again.

_But the most important thing of all—did she still love him? _

When she'd realized how superficial Rhyse's feelings were for her—that without a bow or sword in her hand, he really could not relate to her—her feelings for him had cooled considerably. Still, his rejection had hurt her—badly. But was that simply pride, or had it been the deep, down hurt one feels when love given is not returned? She knew well how that felt. She remembered the last conversation she'd had with Elladan about their relationship, when he'd told her that, while he did love her, he did not love her enough. It had taken her long to get beyond those kind, yet hurtful words.

Since she had gotten over Rhyse's rejection so quickly, though, she was afraid it was because their love had not been that deep. She had loved him, she knew. But mayhap both she and Rhyse had been like Elladan, and their love just wasn't as profound as true love should be. Perhaps her love of Rhyse had something to do with him being a ranger—tall, handsome, kind and noble. She now knew his love for her was based on just such things. She supposed there were worse reasons to love someone…

"Are you finished, Miss Jeren?" Bellasiel asked. "Would you like more?"

Jeren quickly came out of her reverie to answer the cook, "It was marvelous, as usual, but no, I'm quite content. Thank you, Bellasiel."

Jeren got up from the table and headed out of the kitchen. She walked toward the stairs, and a certain confrontation with Elrohir, but hesitated before she took the first step. _What __was__ she__ going __to__ say? __How__ would__ she __react?_ She'd asked herself these questions so many times since he'd come to her room and kissed her soundly, but the trouble was, she still had no answer. But she knew she was as ready as she was ever apt to be, to meet Elrohir with the questions she had.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Elrohir got up from his bed and paced out onto his veranda again. Had he even rested at all last night? He wasn't sure. He'd been in his bed and then back out here so many times he'd lost count. And then he'd had to go and quench the unrelenting heat in him with another late-night swim. He'd finally settled in his bed near dawn, and he supposed he had rested. Sometimes dream paths overlapped real life, and today he wasn't sure which was which. Of one thing he was certain: He'd kissed Jeren last night and today he would account for it.

He asked himself again why he'd been such a fool, but his answer was another question: Had he been a fool? The only way out of this never ending circle he was in was to tell Jeren once and for all exactly how he felt about her. But he thought he already knew what her response would be.

She would very kindly tell him she was in love with Rhyse, and that she loved him as a brother still, and she hoped this would not interfere with their relationship. At which point he would quietly tell her that it wouldn't; but inside, his heart would be in pieces.

Could he live like that? He wasn't sure, but he might have to try.

He turned his back to the railing, leaning against it heavily, one foot propped on the bottom cable. He was dressed only in a pair of beige trousers, the bottom half of his sleeping clothes. The material was gauzy and thin, not leaving much to the imagination. It was fairly windy today, so he closed his eyes, laid his head back, and let the breeze caress his body, whipping his hair away from his face.

He'd come back into his room last night after kissing her, berating himself for the foolishness of his actions. But she seemed so very vulnerable to him these days, so much so that he wanted to draw her to him, so that he might protect her from everything that could ever threaten her—even himself, it seemed. He'd been so afraid that he'd reinjured her arm while training her that he almost couldn't look at her at all, until his father had assured him that all was well with her. But that still didn't answer the question of why he'd chosen that particular moment last night to kiss her.

And when he tried to answer that question, all he came up with was that he hadn't chosen the moment—it had chosen itself. There she was—in his arms—and he'd looked into her eyes, overwhelmed with his love of her, and the natural consequence of that had been a kiss.

It was as simple and as complicated as that.

He was startled by a sudden loud knock on his door. Before he'd even completed the word, "Come", the door had opened and Jeren came storming in.

"Now do not put me off, Elrohir, because I want—no; I need—an explanation—" Jeren was almost out to the veranda when she noticed what Elrohir wore—or barely wore. With the breeze melding the sheer material to Elrohir's body, he may as well have been naked. She stopped and turned around abruptly, saying, "Would you please get dressed so that I might have a word with you?"

Amused at seeing her so flustered, he smiled, and walked into the room to meet her. "Good morning," he said, right near her ear. His smile widened when he realized he'd startled her. "I trust you had a good night?"

Turning around to look at his face, she said, "No, actually, I didn't have a good night!" After only moments, though, she qualified her remark. "Well, truthfully, your father saw to it that I did have a very good night—without asking me, of course."

"My father?" he asked, still smiling. His smile grew again when he saw she was blushing.

"Right after you—_left_ last night, he came to my room with a poultice for my arm. After he was finished applying it, we started talking about you."

"Me?" he asked, all innocence.

She huffed out a breath. "Yes, you! And you know precisely why. Why are you behaving so naïvely, Elrohir? You know exactly what had me concerned—so concerned I asked your father about why you would do such a thing."

He laughed and placed his hands on her arms, up near her shoulders. "And what did he say?"

"That's just it—he would tell me nothing." She thought about that for a moment, remembering Lord Elrond's comment about not being able to tell her anything because he was Elrohir's healer. "Why would he be unable to speak to me about why you might have kissed me—because he is your healer, Elrohir? I have to tell you that when he said that, it upset me greatly. What is wrong with you that you need him as a healer? Are you hale?"

Elrohir pulled her into his embrace and was happy to note that she did not pull away, but laid her face on his chest. He'd felt her momentary hesitance when he'd wrapped his arms around her, but then she'd relaxed. "There is nothing wrong with me, Jeren, but for a while I was going to my father so that he could use his healing talents to rid me of my fear for you when we fought together—you and me. And then a couple of weeks ago, after I confronted Rhyse for his mistreatment of you, he demanded to know what had my mood so dark, and I was glad to find out that my mood had everything to do with his mind healing sessions."

She pulled back and looked up at him, confused, and then asked him seriously, "What has that to do with you kissing me?"

"In my father's attempts to heal my mind, he stripped away all notions I ever had of being in any way related to you. I've always loved you, you know. That hasn't changed. But I no longer feel brotherly or fatherly toward you. I feel more like a—potential lover, to be honest."

He watched her face and was relieved that at least he did not see revulsion there.

"And that is what was bothering me for so long—I feared I'd become some monster, to be having feelings like this for you. But when my father challenged me about my behavior after I'd accosted Rhyse, and I described what had been happening inside me, he explained that it wasn't my fault; I was not to blame for these feelings emerging. It was his attempts at convincing my deepest mind that you were not my daughter, nor my sibling, that caused this change. While I remembered none of it, he told me that in the sessions, he'd suggested to me that you were a woman grown, who could take care of herself. He convinced me too well, and this is the result."

Jeren suddenly became aware that she was standing in the arms of an almost naked Elf, and she pulled away to stand a few feet distant. "So what are you saying, exactly, Elrohir?"

"I am saying that my feelings for you have changed. I am in love with you, Jeren."

She turned away from him, not wanting him to see the pain on her face. He couldn't expect her to suddenly change her feelings for him, could he? She didn't know exactly how she felt right now, but she wasn't at all sure that it could ever be how he now felt about her.

Without saying another word, Jeren left the room, closing Elrohir's bedchamber door with a quiet click.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Elrohir found her later that morning, at the same field where he'd discovered her a week or so ago, when she'd defied Glorfindel, refusing to meet him for a training session. She sat on one of the hewn logs that circled the corral, and Two was inside, contentedly grazing. He sat down beside her, and when she seemed as if she'd not noticed he was there, he nudged her shoulder with his.

"What's this? You aren't even speaking to me now? Had I known this would be the result, I'd have kept my lips to myself."

Jeren smiled, and then looked at Elrohir. "Don't worry; I am still speaking to you Elrohir, but I had to recover my voice first."

His smile faded a little, when he said, "I do not mean to be glib about any of this, Jeren. I know this all must come as quite a shock to you, and I did not know how your mood would be—I was testing the water, so to speak."

And herein lay one of the problems, as far as Jeren could see. He treated her differently than he used to, and it scared and confused her. She was used to sparring with Elrohir. He always took the opposite side of any disagreement they might have. Not that you could call this a disagreement, exactly, but in this he was actually thinking about how she would feel and not just running roughshod over her emotions.

As she thought back to the time when she'd first met him, she literally hated him most of the time. But as time passed, and he was there for her when it counted—_always_ there for her—her love for him had grown until now it knew no bounds. But still, Elrohir being agreeable wasn't something she was used to. She wondered if Lord Elrond had changed something else in his personality, with his attempts to heal Elrohir's mind.

He took her right hand into his, and, as he'd gotten into the habit of doing, began exercising her fingers as they sat there quietly together.

"Elrohir—" Jeren started, then stopped. Her mind was in tumult as she sat there trying to figure out exactly what to say to him.

"Just talk to me, Jeren," he said calmly. "Whatever it is, say it. Nothing gets solved when no one speaks, and I've already said my piece."

"Yes, you have," she said, her tone ironic. She turned toward him, then, attempting to squeeze his hand with her three good fingers. "You know I love you, Elrohir. I'm just not sure I can love you the way that you want me to now."

He squeezed her hand back. "It's Rhyse, isn't it?" He'd tried not to let his voice take on that note of jealousy, but he was not sure he was successful.

"No, not really," Jeren said honestly. "When he left here a few weeks ago, he'd said some things to me that I found not only hard to forgive, but that were very enlightening. I've been questioning what he truly feels about me ever since and what I feel about him. But even if Rhyse and I were to go our separate ways, I do not know if that would change anything between you and me."

Elrohir didn't feel encouraged by what Jeren had said. Perhaps his biggest obstacle in winning Jeren wasn't Rhyse at all, as he'd thought. It was obvious that Jeren was not going to simply fall into his arms, and the two of them live happily ever after from this point forward. If he wanted her, he was going to have to tame her; break her stubborn hold on their past relationship. It was as simple as that.

But taming Jeren would not be simple at all. In many ways she was wild and free, unconventional. And he was going to have to pursue her with that in mind. If he gave it his best, and she was still unmoved, then she could not be moved, because he intended to hold nothing back in this quest of his.

"Given what you've just said about Rhyse," Elrohir began, "would it be possible that I might court you while you make up your mind?"

Jeren laughed—she could not help herself. There was that word again—court. The same word Rhyse had used when he'd first approached her, and she didn't know its meaning any better now than she had then, as far as she, personally, was concerned. She was definitely not a traditional woman, and Elrohir's traditional speech had set off her laughter. But seeing his almost affronted expression at her outburst, she quickly placed her left palm atop their already joined hands.

"I'm sorry for laughing, Elrohir," Jeren explained. "But even you must admit that that was a very amusing question, when you call to mind our past relationship." She tried to stifle a giggle that would not be stifled, but since he was still not smiling, she tamped it down harder and tried again. "I would accept your offer—of courtship—but I worry for your father." At her mention of the Elf lord, all humor escaped her; she remembered his sad face when he'd told her about Elladan's choice—indeed the choice of all his children—a few years ago.

Elrohir frowned. "What has my father to do with it?" His tone was almost irritated.

Jeren looked at him incredulously. "I would have thought that you and your brother shared most everything. Surely he told you of the time your father approached me, when he thought Elladan and I were growing too close, and he told me of the choice all of his children would have to make eventually. He wanted me not to pull Elladan toward a choice of Humanity, and the best way—in your father's mind—for that to occur, would be if Elladan fell in love with me. He asked me to please not allow that to happen."

Elrohir's jaw dropped momentarily, as shock overcame his usual blithe attitude, but he recovered quickly. "_My_ father did that?" He shook his head, saying absently, "Just when you think you've seen and heard everything there is to see and hear..."

He looked at her again, and continued, "I knew you understood about our choice, but I did not know that is how you acquired the knowledge. _Ilúvatar,_ I had no idea anything like this had happened. No wonder Elladan gave me such space when it was obvious that I had a problem. I wondered about that. I suppose he's decided—for the two of us, as usual—that we need not know each other's deepest secrets anymore."

"Regardless of how I found out, I know about your choice. Your father is of the mind—or at least he was then, when he told me about it—that if any of you falls in love with a Human, you might choose to become one. You told me that Arwen has chosen in just such a way. Do you suppose being made to confront this now with his daughter will ease your father's pain, if you or your brother choose likewise?" She shook her head. "I do not."

"Of course I don't want to hurt my father, but this has little to do with him. I understand how devastating Arwen's opting for Humanity has been for him—none of us wants to see her die. But my father's linking these two events—Arwen falling in love with a Human and her subsequent choice of becoming one herself—is unwise. I know he recalls his brother Elros, and the pain of losing him to Humanity, but when he tries to connect loving a Human too closely with becoming one, he forgets that one does not always have to follow the other. Even loving you as I do does not make me mindlessly wish to choose Humanity. Humans whom I have loved, have come and gone in my life, and I am not guileless enough to believe that more still will not. True, I've loved no one before as I love you, so I have no real experience to base these feelings on, but as it stands now, I am Elfkind and have every intention of remaining so."

They were quiet, sitting there on the log together, for a few moments more. But then Jeren looked up at the Elf beside her. "I hope you tell your father what you just told me, Elrohir. I think he needs to know your viewpoint on this." She squeezed his hand between both of hers.

He turned until he was fully facing her, leaning forward until his lips were mere inches from hers. He noted that she didn't flinch or shrink back from him. That was a good start. "You never answered my question."

"What question was that?"

"Whether or not you would accept my pursuit of you."

She looked at their joined hands, resting on Elrohir's knee, and then looked back up at him. "I will consider it, Elrohir. I will not turn you away completely, but neither do I encourage you right now. I have to decide once and for all about Rhyse, before I even consider taking up with another. Do you not agree?"

"I am not the one to ask, because I would tell you he forfeited any claim he might have had on you, when he not only hurt you, but turned and walked away from you."

She contemplated that for a moment or two. "That may be," she finally said, "but he and I have shared much. I feel I owe it to him, telling him face to face what's in my heart—or what no longer might be."

He kissed her lips briefly, and then watched for her reaction. There was none that he could clearly discern.

"I don't know if I will ever be able to feel for you what you are feeling for me," she repeated.

He leaned in close, so close he could have kissed her again. He watched her, as her eyes were trained on his lips. "Well, forgive me, if I hope that you can; I will never be able to feel any other way about you, Jeren."

They stared into each other's eyes for a few moments, and then Elrohir gave her hands a final squeeze and rose. He then held his hand out to her, beckoning her to rise, too. She frowned at first, and then put her hand into his, getting up off the log.

"It's early yet," Elrohir said. "Still plenty of time to get some training in, if you would like to; if your arm is up to it, I mean."

Without grimacing, she lifted her bad arm, and caressed his cheek with her thumb and index finger. "I think it is up to it."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**A/N: Again, thanks to all reviewers—Shycoyotegirl, Song in the Woods, Livia09, Sadie Sil, Brandibuckeye, Lady Anne, Teacalm, and Elfinabottle. You guys are the best!  
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	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The next few weeks flew by, and Jeren and Elrohir worked together almost every day, training Jeren to not only use her less dominate left hand, but to get her right side to work as well as it could. Lord Elrond still restricted her activity, as to how much weight she could bear with her injured arm. Everyday tasks she used to take for granted, before she'd gotten wounded in battle, she had to get help to do now. She was thankful that, for the most part, at least she was able to make attempts at doing some things for herself.

She was still using the lightest of the wooden training swords. While she could hold the lesser ones for several minutes at a time with her right hand now, when she tried to advance to heavier swords, her grip would falter and fail after only a very few seconds. But holding anything at all was such an improvement that Jeren could not complain—overly much—about the length of time she could grasp onto something.

She was still not allowed to saddle Two. Even though the saddle did not weigh any more than a small child, she had to lift it to shoulder height, and her healer forbid her from even attempting that yet. He said the break in the bone was still mending, but Jeren also knew that the strength in her fingers and arm was not sufficient to lift the saddle anyway. She saw this for what it was; Lord Elrond's attempt at trying to lessen the impact her impairment had on her. She loved him all the more for that, and she was content with the steady progress she was making, although at times she was filled with frustration.

As she was this morning…

It had been almost three months since she'd been injured, and today she was at her dressing table in her room, trying to braid her hair. She'd washed it by herself for the first time last night, and this was her first try at braiding it alone. Her right arm was stiff, and she had to hold her head and neck at an odd and difficult angle. Her arm would only bend so far at the elbow, plus she only had a thumb and two fingers on that hand to do the work. She'd braided her hair partially three times already and each time it was uneven and bulging in places. She was growing more irritated by the minute.

She massaged her upper arm, digging her fingertips into the muscle right near her shoulder for a few moments. The pain of holding her arm up for the time it was taking to try and braid her hair was causing the muscle to cramp and burn. Clenching her jaw, she picked up the brush again and ran it through her hair, and then set it down on the table. She parted her hair into three sections with her fingers, then set to braiding it, hoping that somehow those fingers would remember the proper movements to complete the braid.

Again it was uneven! She picked up the brush to pull it through her hair once more, but in a fit of pique she threw it instead, and it bounced off her closed bedchamber door.

Suddenly the door opened, completely startling her. Filled with guilt, she expected it to be Lord Elrond, who might be coming to see for himself how someone who was basically a guest in his house could dare to mar the woodwork by throwing things at it. She bolted up from the stool she'd been sitting on, knocking it over in the process.

"Is it safe to come in here?" Elrohir asked, as he peeked around the door.

"Elrohir!" Jeren said on a loud exhale. "I could have been naked in here! Do you have no manners that you would barge through a closed door unannounced?"

Jeren watched Elrohir's face as he contemplated making a ribald comment to her exclamation, but decided against it. Instead, he asked in a quietly placating tone, "What is all the fuss over?" He bent to retrieve her brush from the floor. "You're dressed. I'm dressed. Everyone is dressed; no one is naked." His smile was charming, and, as he tendered this speech, he was making his way into her room. He stopped to return the stool to its feet.

She plopped back down on the seat in front of the mirror again. "Elrohir, I want you to go fetch a knife and cut this stinkin' hair o' mine! I am _through_ tryin' t' manage it!"

Elrohir couldn't help his widening smile. It never ceased to amaze him how she could slip into Anardil's vernacular whenever she was really angry.

"You don't mean that, do you, Jeren?" he asked her, his voice light and quite a bit patronizing. He began running the bristles of the brush through the shining black length of her hair. "It just so happens I'm very good at braiding. What say I do this for you today?" His teasing tone threatened to set her teeth on edge.

"I'd rather you cut it!" she said with strength, obviously still angry at the difficulty she'd been having with it.

"But it's so beautiful." Again she could tell he was barely keeping himself from laughing.

"It's only hair, Elrohir," she snapped. "It will always grow back. And in the meantime, I would not have to fuss over it any more. Yes, the more I think about it, the more I wish it cut!"

He finally grew serious, his tone much cooler. "No, I will not cut it, Jeren. And anyone you try to enlist in the cause, I will threaten with his life. As you said, it's only hair. Let someone else braid it for you, while you still cannot. It won't be long until you will regain mastery over the task. Now just settle down and let me do it for you."

She glared at him in the mirror, but secretly she was more glad than angry. This was an Elrohir she knew and could deal with, not the "new" Elrohir who confused her so much. But then he did a most unexpected thing—he gave her a winning smile, completely genuine, and he added, "Please?"

Her heightened spirits fell quickly. This is what had her so flustered about Elrohir lately. In all the time she'd known him, except for the past few months, he would have tried to bully her into submission and then left it at that. But this time? He'd asked her 'please'. How could she refuse?

She sat there quietly as he worked with her hair. First he brushed it several times, gathering it all into the palm of his left hand as he used the brush with his other one. He separated it into three narrow sections and then began the braiding. The skin of his fingers brushed against her neck several times, causing her to shiver involuntarily whenever it happened. She didn't know why this simple contact seemed to bother her. It left her feeling unsettled—and not in a totally unpleasant way.

_Was she beginning to respond to Elrohir's touch?_

She'd been working so closely with him lately, especially during the sword work that was strengthening her right arm, that she was starting to look forward to that part of the training. He would mold his body against her back, his arm running the length of hers, him holding her hand and taking her through the proper motions. She remembered how, when he'd taken that stance the first time, she'd been a little unnerved by his nearness. She'd never been quite that close to him before, but she had shrugged it off as a necessary part of the training. Yet after his revelation—that he was in love with her—she'd begun to see those sessions in a new light. She'd fought it, because she was still all but betrothed to Rhyse, but now she could no longer deny it—she enjoyed those training sessions in many ways.

She had guilty thoughts about Rhyse, but then remembered the way he had last spoken to her, and also Elrohir's words of a few weeks ago: Rhyse had given up all claim to her when he'd flung hurtful words at her, and then left her here with a broken heart. She did remember that Rhyse had given her a partial peace offering, she supposed, by coming to her room the night before he left and had departed with a kiss and a note of apology.

And now she was starting to wonder if she was having feelings for Elrohir—like the feelings he now held for her. Lately, she'd been thinking about being close to Elrohir—really close—kissing him, touching him, letting him touch her. While these daydreams didn't fill her with distaste, it still seemed wrong somehow. She wondered if it was the unfinished business she still had with Rhyse that made her react in this way, or if she really could not feel for Elrohir what he felt for her. Yet she knew she couldn't even consider her feelings for Elrohir until she'd taken care of the situation with Rhyse. _But__ what,__ exactly, __was __her __situation __with__ Rhyse?_

She truly didn't know how she felt about Rhyse now. He had been hateful the last time they'd actually talked. But the letter he left for her the night before he went back to the settlement, while not filled with hope, had not completely shut the door on them being together.

And now he wasn't here and Elrohir was. Nothing had changed for her in regard to Elrohir, at least she hadn't thought so until now. She'd always felt as if he were a brother, and now she wondered if that was still true. He'd always been exasperating, as she knew brothers could be, although she'd not had personal experience with one herself. But he didn't treat her in quite so irritating a manner any more. He had his moments, but lately he seemed to regard her more as an equal.

That thought startled her. She tried to think back as to when that had happened, and she realized it had been going on for some time. In the past he'd always treated her as a child—frustratingly so. He'd certainly been behaving strangely for months, but she knew what had caused that now, and all that time he'd not been acting toward her as he had before—like an older brother—ordering, not asking her; teasing and jesting all the time. His manner had become completely different, and as she sat here thinking about it, she realized she was definitely growing used to his new demeanor.

Elrohir reached over her shoulder to fetch the short length of leather off the dressing table that he needed in order to tie the end of the braid together. She could feel the strength of his chest beneath the soft lawn of his shirt as it pressed against the back of her head, and his long, silky hair tickled her cheek. His image in the mirror smiled at her as he straightened back up.

She shivered involuntarily again, as she sat quietly, continuing with her train of thought. What if, when she saw Rhyse again, all the feelings she'd ever had for him rose unbidden? What then? Maybe that isn't what would happen, but maybe it was. Yet she knew that Rhyse's admission, that he could never accept her not being a ranger, might have killed whatever love she'd had for him. Right now, that's exactly how she felt. But on the other hand, maybe she'd just been away from him for too long, and it was his absence that made her heart feel colder. She wouldn't really know until she met with him again and discussed all these things with him.

Even though she'd had marked improvement in her arm since Rhyse had left Imladris, it was still far from healed, and she could not imagine ever being able to handle weapons well enough that she would be able to pass the tests for re-admittance into the rangers. And he'd said that would certainly make a difference to him. He'd said it in plain language, before he'd lost his temper completely. She could still hear it echoing in her mind: _"__That __is __not __a __reality __I__ want __to __imagine__—__or __accept. __I__ cannot __even__ grasp __that__ concept.__ That __is__ who __you__ are, __Jeren__—__who __I __love__—__a__ warrior,__ a __ranger.__ I __cannot __think __at __all __in__ terms__ of__ you __never __being __either__ of__ those__ things __again.__"_

Mayhap he'd softened his stance in the meantime, but in all likelihood, knowing him as she did, he hadn't. He was a very stubborn man. He was kind and thoughtful most of the time, but stubborn, just as she was. Chances were he wanted her to continue to be a ranger with him. And she also wanted that.

_At least she thought she did._

That _was _what she was training toward, was it not?

She thought about that for a moment. _Is _that what she was training toward?

She'd become accustomed to being home again—home here in Imladris. She'd been having writing lessons with Daeron three times a week, learning to write with both of her hands. She'd not gotten far with either, but she was making progress with both, and that was what was important. And Elrohir had begun having his midday meal with her, here in her room, and he'd been helping her learn to use a knife and fork with her left hand. She tried using her right hand when she could, but with only two fingers and a thumb that still worked, she was very awkward with it. She could almost cut her own meat, depending on the type and thickness of it, but getting the bite to her mouth was still challenging if she tried using her stiff right arm.

She loved her frequent talks with Lord Elrond, and the meals they all shared. Speaking of which, the tension between the Lord of Imladris and Glorfindel had been lessening of late. It was still present, but not nearly as intense as before. She hoped they would talk soon, and reconcile completely. But the point was that she really did not miss the settlement much. She missed her Aunt Elen and Uncle James, as well as their children, but the day-to-day grind of rangering? Right now she could say that missing it wasn't foremost in her mind.

That thought took her aback. She'd worked very hard to become a ranger; first of all so that she could be near her father, and possibly make him proud of her for once in her life. After his death, that reason was gone, but the need to kill Orcs and avenge herself had remained. If she were being truthful, that motivation was no longer so strong. Could it be that she'd finally begun to deal with what the Orcs had done to her all those years ago, or was she merely facing the reality that being in battles just wasn't in her future? She remembered Lord Elrond telling her on more than one occasion that killing Orcs would never change what had happened; that eventually, she would have to let her anger go.

Could that be what was happening? And if so, what would she do now?

She'd concentrated her entire being toward that goal for so long. If it was satisfied, what could possibly take its place? If she was no longer spurred toward revenge against Orcs, did she really need to be a ranger anymore? And if she didn't, then what would she do?

"There," Elrohir announced as he finished her braid. "See? I told you I was good at this."

She gave him a half-hearted smile, shaking her head at his customary arrogance.

Placing his hands onto her shoulders, Elrohir said, "Time to get downstairs and break our fasts. Then more training." He looked somewhat pensive for a moment, prompting Jeren to wonder where his thoughts had drifted.

He must've seen the question in her gaze. "I would have thought your arm would be much better by now. I would be happier if Glorfindel would reconsider training you."

"But you're doing well at it," Jeren said, almost too quickly. She didn't want to encourage his pursuit of her, because she was much too confused about Rhyse right now. Her feelings toward Elrohir might be changing, but it wouldn't be right to lead him on, if somehow she and Rhyse found some common ground—enough so that they could continue with their plans to marry. But she'd grown used to spending so much time with Elrohir and didn't want to give up any part of it.

"Yes, but I know Glorfindel could do better. It really isn't fair of me not to at least try to get him to train you. I love spending so much time with you, but at what cost? You deserve the best, and while I'm adequate, Glorfindel would be superb."

"He's still really angry with your father, and, therefore, angry with me."

"Not really, Jeren—" Elrohir began in protest.

"—I know, Elrohir, but remember: Glorfindel resents my presence here, and isn't likely to go out of his way to do me a kindness—especially after I was so rude and wasted his time before."

"That's just what I'm trying to make you see, though, Jeren," Elrohir said emphatically. "Glorfindel does not resent your presence. I thought I'd made it clear to you that he was using you as a way to get at my father—to hurt him. I truly do not think he holds any ill will toward you—except, of course, the choler you raised in him by disobeying his orders."

"Well, I did do that," Jeren said, ashamed every time she thought about it.

"I don't know if you've noticed that he stops by the room when you're training sometimes and watches your progress."

"I've seen him once or twice," she said.

"Well he's been there much more than just once or twice," Elrohir countered, his tone taking on an air of conspiracy. "I have purposely been doing some of the exercises wrong and also out of the sequence he prefers."

Jeren's puzzled frown puckered her brow. "I'd wondered about that. I thought there was some reason regarding the healing of my arm that had you taking a different course from that which Glorfindel takes. What is it, then? Have you been purposely trying to make him angry?"

"Angry, no," Elrohir said with a smile. "Frustrated and perturbed with me, yes. Merely my usual attitude when it comes to dealing with Glorfindel—how I've always treated him. Oh the talks my father had with me when I was an Elfling." He gazed into space for a second or two, but quickly came back to the discussion at hand. "However, it now comes to me that if I persist and make even more blatant errors, Glorfindel will not be able to let it pass. He will have to intervene. At which time I will hand you back over to him to train. A brilliant plan, do you not think?"

Jeren didn't know whether to agree with Elrohir or not, since she really didn't want to lose her time with him. But she feared he was right, and Glorfindel might be superior for getting her arm back to better function faster.

"Surely Glorfindel is much too smart to fall for such an obvious plan."

"Doubtless, he is. Yet even knowing that he is falling right into my trap, the part of him that thrives on perfection will be unable to allow me to continue in my slovenly fashion."

Jeren smiled. "Elrohir, you are the most devious of Elves." Her smile bloomed larger, as she continued, "and also an Elf with the most exceptional plans."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

As Jeren and Elrohir sat down in the Dining Hall for their morning meal, Glorfindel entered the room. He made his way to his usual place at the table, greeting them both in turn, tersely, as was his typical manner. There were definitely times in which Jeren wished she was not seated directly across from the mischievous twin, and this was certainly one of those times. She had to repeat to herself to hold her mirth, because the innocence on Elrohir's face was about to make her break out into peals of laughter. And since she didn't want to explain what she was laughing about, the best solution was to not laugh at all.

Elrohir solved the problem himself a few moments later, when he asked, "Glorfindel, when do you expect the novices to return? They've been gone an extraordinarily long while."

"I expected them last week," he said with some concern. "I fear I may have to go looking for them. Would you care to accompany me?"

"When do you think to leave?" Elrohir asked, all levity gone from his face.

"If they are not back by tonight, we'll leave at dawn tomorrow."

Jeren could not believe it, but she had to bite her tongue to keep from asking if she could go with them. She had no desire to fight Orcs, as well as no skill at this point in her rehabilitation, but to be out on horseback, riding and exploring, that did sound like a wonderful endeavor. She decided to ask Elrohir later if there was any possible way she could join them. He, at least, would not laugh, as she had every notion that Glorfindel would. Whether Elrohir would agree with her coming or not? She doubted it sincerely. While she was better, she would still be a burden to whomever she might travel with.

Jeren glanced up when Elrond entered the room. He greeted everyone as a group, and Jeren couldn't help but watch Glorfindel's face upon the entrance of the Lord of Rivendell. Up until now, Glorfindel's expression had been hard and unmoving whenever he chanced to meet Elrond, but this morning Jeren recognized the slightest softening of his face, as if he regretted that he could no longer participate in the easy banter that used to flow between him and one of his oldest friends.

After the meal was underway, Elrohir said to his father, "If the novice patrol is not back by tonight, I will go with Glorfindel to find them on the morrow."

Elrond glanced at Glorfindel, but then said to his son, "They are lost? When were they due to return?"

Elrohir couldn't hide his shocked expression, realizing that his father had not known what he'd just revealed, but he quickly recovered. "Last week sometime."

Elrond then looked at Glorfindel, obviously waiting for some sort of explanation. When Glorfindel simply resumed eating, Elrond said, his tone slightly acid, "Since when do I have to learn of the Imladris force from other than the Arms Master?"

With no apology in his tone or manner, Glorfindel said, "You have my deepest regrets for not keeping you informed, my lord. Perhaps after our meal, you might have a few moments when I could brief you on those details?"

Elrond agreed, and they all resumed eating. Jeren glanced at Elrohir, and he shrugged, but the look on his face told her that he wished he could somehow be in on that meeting.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Elrond closed the door of his study after Glorfindel entered. He turned, expecting to see his old friend standing behind him, but the Arms Master was already relaxing on the sofa in the other part of the room.

As Elrond approached Glorfindel, he said, "Make yourself comfortable—_please_." One would have had to be deaf not to hear the sarcasm with which he punctuated that simple comment.

Glorfindel still didn't say anything, but he swept his arm toward the chairs opposite him, inviting the Elf lord to sit. Exasperated, Elrond complied.

They started to speak simultaneously, but Elrond stopped, and with a gesture of his hand, yielded the floor to Glorfindel.

"The novice warriors and five instructors left almost a month ago to gain experience out in the wild. They were due to return last week, but as Elrohir told you, they have not. I plan, with your son's help, to go looking for them on the morrow, if they do not return by this evening. You were right to chastise my neglect of keeping you informed."

"Very well," Elrond said, but that is all that he said. After several moments of strained silence between them, he asked, "Is there anything else?" He placed his hands on the arms of his chair, as if he meant to rise.

Glorfindel fidgeted in his seat, at first sitting forward with his elbows on his knees, and then sitting back in the chair, more upright. He opened and closed his mouth a time or two, before he finally admitted, "This is not easy, Elrond. You know the difficulty I have in admitting I have been wrong, yet I find I must apologize for my behavior. The last time we spoke, I said things to you that were beyond reprehensible, and I am very regretful. You are my oldest and dearest friend, and I have missed your presence in my life. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me."

Elrond looked toward the windows behind his desk, as if searching for words out beyond the glass that could somehow tell him what to say. But then he turned his eyes back toward Glorfindel, his face softening. "Of course I forgive you."

Before he had a chance to say anything more, Glorfindel went on, "I do not apologize for my _opinions,_ only for the way in which I stated them."

Elrond raised one of his finely arched brows. "So you do indeed think I show favoritism toward a girl I have grown to love, instead of where it rightly belongs, with my own daughter?"

Glorfindel had the grace to look chagrined for a moment, but that moment passed, and his face again took its usual lines. "No, I do not think that," he finally said. "I know you love Arwen as she deserves. I was merely being—_emotional_—when I made that remark." The word 'emotional' came out almost strangled, as if Glorfindel had a difficult time saying it at all. "My apology does not negate my belief that you are being unfair to both Arwen and Estel. I still think that; but I will refrain from voicing my opinion about it again. It is your business, as Arwen's father and Estel's former guardian, and I have no cause to burden you with my judgments."

"It is because of my deepest love of my daughter that I set such a stringent mandate for Estel to follow. If Arwen is going to give up her very life for someone, it will be for someone who deserves such an awesome gift."

"I understand Elrond, and I have told you I was wrong," Glorfindel said, as if he would not tolerate further discussion of the matter.

"Very well," Elrond said. "Apology accepted." However, Elrond did not look appeased, and for good reason. Glorfindel's assertion that he still held the opinions he'd voiced before, left one very important thing hanging between them.

"As for the other, and perhaps the least forgivable thing I uttered that night, I also beg your forgiveness. I said it in the heat of anger and in no way meant it as fact."

"Oh," Elrond said, his face hardening just a fraction, "are you referring to your _opinion_ of how, had it been you who met Isildur after he had struck Sauron down, the ring would not be a factor in our present lives? Is that to what you are referring?" Elrond might have sounded angry, but the expression on his face spoke of the enduring sorrow with which he truly held this truth.

All the pride that had colored Glorfindel's expression fled from his face and was replaced by obvious remorse. Glorfindel nodded, completely humbled by Elrond's pain.

"Yes, that is to what I refer, as you well know. I regretted voicing that nonsense the moment I let it through my lips. I truly do not believe it, Elrond. It would have taken murder on your part to wrest the ring from the man—I've known that all along. I would not have been able to resort to such devices, either, no matter the brashness of my comments to you when we argued. You did what you could; everyone who knows you understands that."

"Well, I do not understand it, Glorfindel. I've often lain abed at night, unable to rest, wondering just what someone else might have done in my place. How it all might have been resolved that very day, had I not let Isildur slip through my hands still possessing that—_thing_. And it remained lost for millennia. Would that it had remained so…"

"You would have had war with the Edain had you done such, Elrond. Elendil had been slain in that battle—Isildur was his heir and the true king. None would have stood idly by while their king was slain. And you had your ties to that line to consider—you still do today."

Elrond nodded. "That is very true. But, perhaps, as things turned out, killing Isildur still would have been the most prudent thing to do. I truly know not anymore." Elrond looked away again, unable to meet Glorfindel's steady gaze.

Glorfindel rose from the sofa and held his hand out to his old friend. Elrond stood and accepted the hand in friendship once again. Then Glorfindel embraced Elrond, utterly shocking the Elf lord. As he let go of his friend, Glorfindel walked away a few paces, but turned to say one final thing.

"I will regret till the end of Arda that I uttered those words to you. You might forgive me, but I will not forgive myself."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Elrohir and Jeren had gone to the Armory directly after leaving the dining hall. Elrohir had contemplated listening at his father's study door, to hear what might transpire between the two Elf lords, but decided that that sort of dishonest action was beneath him now. He'd done it often as an Elfling and, to a lesser extent as a young adult, but knew it was the swiftest way to incite his father's wrath if he were found out. So he took a deep breath and had gotten on with his day.

Half an hour after they'd started the exercises, Jeren and Elrohir heard the door to the Armory open and close, highly suspecting the arrival of Glorfindel. They'd been working on her left arm, but Elrohir quickly changed his stance, placing the wooden sword in Jeren's right hand, and then easing himself up against her back. As he guided her arm through the motions, he kept his eye on the doorway in the mirror, waiting to see if Glorfindel would come walking down that hall, and if he did, see if he would stop and observe, as was so often the case.

In a very few moments, he was rewarded when Glorfindel passed the open doorway, and then backed up, to stop and look into the room. Elrohir pulled Jeren closer, almost indecently so, trying everything he could think of to cause Glorfindel to finally snap.

Elrohir did the first few steps of the exercise in as correct a way as he could, guiding Jeren's arm with his own. But as he continued, he took the steps completely out of sequence—even making some new ones up as he went along. Jeren looked at him askance, since the movements were not only absurd, but painful as well.

Glorfindel strode purposefully into the room and stopped right beside Jeren and Elrohir, placing his hands around their joined ones. "I can stand for this ineptitude no longer," he said quietly, as he worked his fingers beneath the tangle of theirs until he had the hilt of the training sword in his grasp, and they each dropped their hands to their sides. "I do not know what you think to train her in, but I can see it isn't the sword.

"You," he said, looking at Elrohir, "leave us, and you," he said, with his gaze now pinned on Jeren, "prepare to work as you've never worked before."

"Do you mean it, Arms Master?" Jeren asked excitedly. "You will train me?"

"Are you speaking to your superior officer without leave to do so?" he asked, his voice steely.

Jeren's eyes widened momentarily, but her smile did not falter.

"Permission to speak, Arms Master?"

"Permission _not_ granted. Now do twenty lifts with your right arm, holding the sword…"

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Elrond glanced up from his work when he answered the knock on his study door. He stretched his neck and spine, realizing he'd been sitting here for hours without moving. He noticed the late afternoon glare of the sun as it came through the window, leaving its trail across the floor.

Locien entered the room, still breathless from his quick ride from the border. Elrond smiled, and said, "Sit; rest for a moment."

The border guard was one of the younger Elves, not accustomed to having an audience with the Lord of Rivendell. He sat gingerly on the fine wooden chair, looking as if he was afraid his unkempt state would mar its immaculate finish. He'd only been on the border patrol for six months, and the majority of his time was spent out there, his only company being three other guards. He was noticeably uncomfortable under the discerning gaze of the Lord of the valley.

After only a very few moments he sat forward in the chair, ready to deliver his message. "The novice patrol has returned."

"Ah, good," Elrond said with relief in his voice. "We were growing concerned for their welfare."

"They bring with them Dúnedain; they found them wounded along their trail."

"Wounded? How many? Did you recognize any of them?"

"Elladan is with them, unhurt, but Estel is among the injured, my lord," Locien said, but noticing the look of alarm on the Elf lord's face, he hurried to explain. "He is not injured badly—only an ankle, from a spill off his horse."

The relief on Elrond's face was apparent. "How many are there total, and are there any among them who will require more extensive healing?" Elrond's smile had returned, as he helped ease Locien's burden of testimony; it was obvious he was unfamiliar with giving reports.

"There are twenty-five in total, my lord, with only three of the Dúnedain that will be in need of the Healing Halls." Locien seemed unsettled, as if he were caught in a mistake as he added, "The three includes Estel, my lord."

Elrond surmised that there must be two entire Dúnedain patrols coming, for there to be that great a number, but that still did not explain Estel's involvement.

"Very well, Locien," Elrond said. "Have you already reported to Glorfindel?"

"No, my lord," Locien replied. "I was instructed by Elladan to inform you of their arrival first."

"Then you are dismissed to report to the Arms Master. Thank you for the information."

Locien got up from his chair and headed out the door, and Elrond resumed reading the passage he'd been studying when he'd been interrupted. After a little more than a quarter of an hour had passed, he got up and went to the Healing Halls. He didn't expect the patrols to have arrived yet; Locien had obviously ridden at top speed from the border, and that was a good hour from the house. Elrond knew he still had at least another half hour before the group would arrive. He set about getting supplies ready, as well as summoning Daeron and Naith in case he needed their aid with the injured. He had just taken a seat in the chair beside the first bed right inside the door, when muted voices outside in the hallway alerted him that those that were hurt were close at hand.

The first through the double doors was Aragorn, hopping on one booted foot while he kept the other bare one hoisted aloft. He was being held up by Elladan on one side and Rhyse on the other. Elrond, with his fists on his hips, waited for an explanation.

"Horse spooked," Aragorn said. "I was reading a map and not paying close attention." He held up a hand to stop the inevitable lecture he felt was coming from his foster father. "I know… One should always step off the horse before putting their attention elsewhere. Yes, I do remember the lesson. Now could we get on with this?"

Elrond smiled at the obvious discomfiture of his son, and then he had Elladan and Rhyse help Aragorn onto an empty bed. He directed Daeron and Naith to see to the two others who were wounded—one had an arrow wound in the side, and the other's head was wrapped in a bloody bandage. "Call me if you have need of me," he told them, as he bent to examine Aragorn's swollen ankle. He prodded and poked at it, earning hisses and grunts from Aragorn, but when he began manipulating the foot with his two hands, Aragorn bit his lip to keep from screaming.

"You did not simply fall from your horse to wreak such ruin upon this ankle. It is broken, Estel. What exactly happened?"

Aragorn looked to his brother for support, but Elladan just smiled and walked a short distance away. "My foot got caught in the stirrup," he said quietly, as if he hated admitting such a thing to his father. "I got dragged for a way."

Elrond drew his brows together, as he exclaimed, "I knew you looked too battered to have merely fallen from a horse. That would be bad enough… It is a wonder you did not break your neck."

"How many times have I heard that before?" Aragorn said to whoever might listen.

"Begging you pardon, my lord," Rhyse said to Aragorn, "but could I take my leave now? I would like to go find Jeren."

Aragorn nodded his head and said quietly, "You are dismissed."

As Rhyse headed out of the room, Aragorn said in a hushed sort of voice, "I think I might have broken a rib, too, Father. Would you have a look…"

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Elrohir kicked the door to Jeren's room closed with his toe after they'd both entered. He carried two wine goblets, and she held a bottle that they'd just fetched from the wine cellar. It was time to celebrate their victory in getting Glorfindel to train Jeren again.

He set the glasses onto the table on the veranda, and she handed him the bottle to open. He accomplished that easily, and then poured them each a generous amount. He handed Jeren her glass, holding his own out for a toast.

"To us!" he declared. "Our plans are the best!" They clinked their glasses together and each took a sip of the dark red wine.

It was almost sunset. Jeren had spent the rest of the morning and the better part of the afternoon with Glorfindel training in the armory. Then she'd come back to her room to clean up, had washed her hair and had let it dry. Elrohir had found her here almost an hour ago, and he'd braided her hair again, and then they'd set off in search of their celebratory drink.

Elrohir sat his glass down on the table and placed his hand on her right arm, up where it had been injured. She wore a long sleeved shirt, made of thin, white cotton, and he gazed at it as if he could see through the cloth.

"What is it, Elrohir?" she asked, as she, too, peered at her arm. She looked to see if her sleeve might be torn.

"It's swollen again," he said, his brow worried. "See how tight the cloth is?"

"It is a bit swollen," Jeren admitted. "I will ask your father for a poultice after evening meal tonight. That should make it right again."

"It hurts me when I see you in pain."

She smiled. "Then I do not believe you should hurt at all, because I am not feeling much pain."

He drew her into his arms, staring down into her eyes until she wanted to squirm, yet she did not pull away. "I am fine, Elrohir."

He smiled and then reached for his glass, taking another small sip. Jeren stepped to the veranda's rail, but he followed her closely. He again reached for her, drawing her into his embrace.

She did not fight it; in fact she was very much enjoying his closeness. She wasn't thinking about Rhyse or marriage or much of anything other than the two of them standing there, their bodies touching. She vaguely wondered about it, since she'd never made any conscious decision about being interested in Elrohir in this way. But right now it didn't seem to matter, and she didn't have wine to thank for her lapse in judgment, if a lapse in judgment it was. She'd only had one little sip. When he kissed her deeply, she returned his kiss with abandon.

"Have your feelings for me changed, Jeren?" he asked her raggedly as he pulled away. He was having a difficult time keeping himself in check.

"I don't know, Elrohir; perhaps," she admitted. "I still have to see Rhyse, to determine if all is ended between us, and I have no idea when that will be. I meant not to allow us to get this close until after I had. But I'm losing myself to you, I think. You're very persuasive, you know."

Elrohir smiled. "I've been told that a time or two." He still held her, his arms around her waist. "I want to tell you that I can step away and give you time to consider your ties to Rhyse, but I'm afraid I'm unable to do that. Not unwilling—unable." The look of pure love on his face was obvious for anyone to see.

She smiled as she drew him closer again. Kissing Elrohir was an altogether different experience. He was insistent without being rough, thorough without being overwhelming. She'd never been better kissed by anyone else, not that she had much practice at kissing a swarm of different men.

She kissed him long and slow, pulling him closer and closer as the kiss deepened. She could feel his body responding to her, and it gave her a tiny thrill to think of the power she held that she'd never really realized before.

They were both startled when they heard the sound of the door as it opened and fell against the opposite door frame. They looked toward the inside of the room, and Rhyse stood in the doorway, his face thunderous.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**A/N: ** Again, thanks to all reviewers—dr3, Shycoyotegirl, Song in the Woods, Livia09, Sadie Sil, Brandibuckeye, Lady Anne, Teacalm, and Elfinabottle.****

**Another A/N: I have used **"The Complete Guide to Middle-earth", by Robert Foster, **as a reference when I write all of my stories, and a question has been bothering me for awhile: Do Elves who bond with Humans automatically become Human? I have read that as fact before in other references, but that is not what Robert Foster believes.**** A direct quote from Robert Foster's book is, "Elwing was the first to make the choice of the Half-elven, and decided to be of the Firstborn." I began questioning that, so I went to the Internet and found the website called "The Thain's book, an encyclopedia of Middle-earth and Numenor." A direct quote from this source is as follows: "Elwing was born in Middle-earth on a starry night in the year 503 of the First Age. She had two older brothers, Elured and Elurin. Her father was Dior and her mother was **Nimloth**. Nimloth was an Elf but Dior was of mixed heritage. His father Beren was a Man and his mother Luthien was the daughter of Thingol, the Elven king of Doriath, and Melian, a Maia from the Undying Lands. Elwing was considered one of the Half-elven, or Peredhil."**

** So, according to these references, Elwing married a Human and remained an Elf. To me that means that it doesn't necessarily follow that if an Elf marries a Human, their choice is virtually taken from them and they become Human just by virtue of their marriage. Since I mark all my stories as A/U, this really doesn't matter, but I just wanted to show you where my reasoning came from.  
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	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Orcs' breath!" Jeren exclaimed. "Why can't people remember to knock before entering my room today?" She started toward the open door, but Elrohir grabbed her by the arm to stay her progress.

"Wait, Jeren," he said. "Let him go for now."

"I can't, Elrohir. He'll misunderstand."

"Will he, Jeren?" Elrohir asked, as he let his hand fall from her arm. "I think he probably has a fine grasp of the situation after what he witnessed."

"That's how you would want it, Elrohir! You are not considering his feelings, only his potential as a rival," she returned, getting angry. "I told you I was still confused; that I needed to settle things with Rhyse. Did you not believe me?"

"Your kisses belie your words."

Jeren could see the pain in his eyes and hear the fear in his tone, as if he could feel her slipping from his grasp. But that could not take away the guilt that she felt for betraying Rhyse, and she decided to be completely honest with Elrohir.

"Then they are indeed lying. Mayhap I am not who you think I am after all. I am certainly not who I would strive to be. I seem to be a deceitful and immoral woman." As this realization stunned her with its echo of truth, she turned away from him.

But he reached for her and made her face him again.

"That is not what you are, Jeren. Kissing me does not make you immoral."

"It does if I cannot say without any hesitation that I love you above all others. I am sorry, Elrohir; I just cannot say that yet." She looked down, staring at the spot where Elrohir's shirt buttoned near his throat. "And there was a time in the not so distant past, when I _did_ say that to Rhyse. The trouble is I do not know if that is true anymore. It is what I must decide."

All the celebration had gone out of both of them; they were now tense and deflated. Elrohir fetched his wine from the table and took a large swallow. Jeren paced to the railing of the veranda, looking out at the deepening sunset that seemed to drown the valley in dim scarlet light.

She was suddenly aware that Elrohir had walked up behind her, and she lamented the lighthearted mood that had abruptly died a few minutes ago, when Rhyse had made his untimely appearance. As Elrohir placed his hands on her shoulders, he said, "I am sorry. I didn't mean to make this more difficult for you."

She turned in his arms to face him, and then laid her head against his shoulder. "I can always count on you to be on my side, Elrohir, except when you're on your _own_ side." She leaned back, looking into his eyes, and gave him a pitiful smile. "Maybe right now isn't the time to seek Rhyse out, but I will have to sooner or later. What will you do if he says something to me, that makes me believe his love for me has not died—nor mine for him? Will you be able to accept it, Elrohir? What will you do?"

"I don't wish to think about that now, Jeren," Elrohir said honestly. "I will deal with that, when and _if_ it happens." He turned away from her this time, and she could tell it was taking much strength for him to keep the bitterness out of his tone. "I will not say something maudlin, as 'I will be broken-hearted should you choose him over me'. I will not be happy about it, and it will take me some time to get over you, but I believe I will be able to—eventually—if it comes to that. I want you to make the choice—Rhyse or me—but without guilt. Search your heart and listen to what it tells you. If it answers 'Rhyse', then that is its answer. I will abide by your decision."

Jeren knew enough about Elves to understand that Elrohir was probably lying to her. Elves gave their hearts only once in their lifetime, so this Elf before her was more than likely just saying these things to ease her pain—to assuage the guilt he feared she might feel if she didn't love him as he loved her. She remembered how Elladan had reacted to her declaration of love for him. He'd told her he loved her, but that he could not declare her as his love for the rest of his lifetime. He was unable do that because he'd not held that deep, abiding 'forever' love for her. Elrohir was behaving with a completely different attitude, and Jeren recognized it for what it was—true and abiding love.

Jeren embraced him then, holding him close to her heart. She had loved him for what seemed like most of her life. "Why do I feel as if I will lose you completely, if I were to choose him? I could not bear that, Elrohir. I love you and I need you in my life." Jeren was appalled when she could hear the tremor of tears in her voice.

Elrohir smiled weakly, settling Jeren into his arms. "I would be willing to have you in my life even if you choose him, but after this—after Rhyse has seen the two of us together—I am not so sure he will agree. He will probably want me as far away from you as he can keep me."

Jeren laid her face against his shoulder, no longer even trying to keep the tears at bay. "I fear that, too, Elrohir, but no matter what he says, I will never let him come between us." She stayed where she was, crying quietly for a very few moments, and then she suddenly stood up straight, pushing away from Elrohir slightly. "But I will not be able to make any decisions until after I've talked to Rhyse, so there's no point in crying over it."

Elrohir laughed gently. "Your father must have certainly forged your spine with steel, Jeren. One minute you are acting as any woman would, and the next, you stand tall and are ready to fight the world."

Jeren smiled back at him, wiping the tears from her cheeks. "Yes, Elrohir, my father was relentless in his quest to stiffen my spine. And sometimes I am not sure if it was a gift or a curse."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Everyone was in the dining hall a little while later. No one noticed that Jeren and Elrohir were a little more subdued than usual. As platters and bowls were passed, and people loaded food onto their plates, there was general discussion, but as the clatter died down, Elrond asked, "Where's Rhyse? I would have expected him to be here as Jeren's guest." He glanced at Jeren as he said this, as if she should know the answer to this indirect question. She swallowed hard and started to reply, but Elladan beat her to it.

"He's with the men in the barracks. I invited him to dine with us, but he pled exhaustion. I suppose this last battle so soon after he was wounded has sapped his strength."

Elrond then shifted his gaze to the Man at the table. "I see you followed my orders well," he said with as much sarcasm as ever seeped into the Elf lord's tone. "You were supposed to stay in bed for a few days, Estel—and off that ankle."

"I was hungry," Aragorn said, his brow puckered in confusion, as if he thought Elrond daft for not drawing a similar conclusion. _If __one__ was__ hungry,__ one__ went __where __there __was __food._

"A meal could be brought to your room, Estel," Elrond said in a deceptively patient tone, as if he bore great trials with this foster son of his.

"There's no need," Aragorn answered sensibly. "You gave me crutches so that I can walk, after a fashion. I'm not crippled; I'm merely a little worse for the wear."

Elladan nudged Aragorn in the ribs, making Aragorn wince and hold his side, but Elladan looked pointedly at Jeren, and the entire room got deathly quiet. Jeren's brow furled, and then she said very plainly, "Why are you all looking at me? I took no offense at Lord Aragorn's words. After all, I'm not crippled, either; I suppose I, too, am just a little worse for the wear."

Her complete seriousness, as well as her words, left everyone speechless for a moment, but then the room erupted in laughter. Elrond held out his hand to her, and since she was on his left, it was her right hand that she offered. He kissed its back lightly, and then set it down on the table, his fingers continuing to envelop hers for a few moments more.

Elladan's astonished gaze had followed their interaction from beginning to end, and it was apparent he was very surprised at the almost fluid movement of her injured arm, as well as her change in attitude. In reality she'd only lifted her hand, but that was far more than she'd been able to do when he'd seen her last. He then smiled warmly at her and said, "No, you are definitely in no way crippled any longer."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

After the evening meal, Jeren did not wait to talk to Elrond in order to get a poultice for her arm. She wasn't thinking about that at all. All she could think about was Rhyse and Elrohir, and what she was going to do about choosing between them. So she went to the stable and put a bridle on Two, then found a step and mounted, riding outside and into the night. It was the first time she'd ridden after dark since she could not remember when, and with the half moon and millions of stars, she truly needed no light for guidance. She knew exactly where she wanted to be, and she quickly overcame the slight caution she felt of riding alone in the dark.

It was only a short ride to the pond she was seeking, where she'd sat a little over three years ago, the night of her father's burial. It was then that Rhyse had asked her for the first time whether she would consent to him courting her. She smiled as she thought about that. At the time, she really had no want or need of a suitor. She was in love, or thought she was, with Elladan. Mostly all she had on her mind at the time was finding a way to become a Dúnedain ranger. And Rhyse had seemed a sure way to get her foot in the door.

She could smell the cedars, which hugged one side of the pond, before she could actually see the water, but in a very few moments she glimpsed the sparkle of the moon's reflection on the surface, which looked as if diamonds had been strewn across it. She slowed Two and dropped from the mare's back. Belatedly, she realized it would be very hard for her to remount, unless she could find a step of some sort. She decided to worry about that when the time came, and she let the reins go so that the horse could graze.

She found a grassy spot, right near the water's edge, and sat down, taking in a deep breath of the tangy fresh air. She had come here with Lord Elrond just hours after her father's death, and had sat with him for quite a long while that day. He was such a wonderful friend, even if, at times, he did treat her like a child. But she could forgive him that, since she had often wished he was her father.

Yet she didn't come here to think about him or Anardil, even though this place reminded her so much of them both. Tonight she'd come to reflect on her life—and who she might share it with in the future. Elrohir had not mentioned marriage, yet she knew from the seriousness with which he'd spoken to her about loving her, it was definitely part of the picture he was painting. She and Rhyse had spoken of marriage—had agreed to their union as soon as the last battle had ended—only life had taken a very strange and hurtful turn, forcing their plans to languish.

If an Orcish blade had not cut her so badly, she would happily now be Rhyse's wife. She had no doubt about that. She had loved him very much; she had no doubt of that, either. The question now was did she love him still? If so, could they come to some sort of agreement concerning Elrohir being in her life? If they couldn't, nothing else mattered, really, because she would not do without him; neither abandon him because Rhyse might seek to require her to, nor allow him to abandon her if he sought to make her life with Rhyse easier. But could she really go back to just being the best of friends with Elrohir? _Or was __she __falling __in __love __with __him?_

She was getting ahead of herself again. The basic question had to be answered first, before she even gave thought to the other: did Rhyse still love her? Would he even consider taking her as his wife now? Could he overlook the fact that she was no longer a fearsome warrior?

_A __fearsome __warrior__…_ Would she ever be one again? Did she want to be?

In spite of her internal debate this morning, when Elrohir was braiding her hair, she suddenly knew the answer to that was 'yes'! Very much. But whether her arm would ever allow such a thing? She truly didn't know the answer to that. Even still, if she could return to fighting, she didn't want to be _just_ a ranger any longer. She wanted more. To be an officer, a leader. To help decide about the battles to be fought, how to fight them, and their execution.

She often thought about the book she had read by Captain Thorongil and had wished with all her might that there would be more such books in the library, about battle tactics and planning. But if they were there, they were in Elvish, not in Westron, and she wouldn't be able to read them at all. She'd asked Erestor if Captain Thorongil had written any more books, and with a strange and sad little smile he had told her no.

This seemed like such a dream, something that would never, ever come to be. How many women had ever helped to plan battles? None, that's how many, at least not in the world in which she lived. Perhaps in Rohan or far Harad things were different, but she really had no way of knowing. Anyway, that was there, and she was here. It almost didn't bear thinking about any longer. On the other hand, hadn't her quest to become a ranger been a dream at one time? It had, and she had seen that dream through to reality. She would think about this some more. In fact, she might bring it up to Lord Glorfindel tomorrow when she trained again.

She lay back in the grass, taking another deep breath of the pungent, cedar-scented air.

Rhyse was here in Rivendell. She could hardly believe it, but it was true, and he was bound to be hurt and angry, although frankly, he had no right to be. If not for the letter he'd left upon his return to the settlement, Jeren would feel little guilt over his witnessing Elrohir kissing her, especially after all the terrible things he'd said to her that last afternoon in the courtyard off the library.

But he _had_ written the letter and left it for her, and while it didn't offer much hope for their future together, it had been written with love. That was definitely something to consider as she thought about her feelings for him.

She frowned when she heard hoof beats approaching, wondering if whoever it was happened to be looking for her. She certainly hoped not. She did not want company—she'd come out here to think things through once and for all, but truthfully, she'd thought these same thoughts hundreds of times. She realized with a heavy heart that what she really needed to do was talk to Rhyse. That conversation would hold the key to the answers she sought.

She didn't bother sitting up to greet whoever was coming to interrupt her private thoughts. She figured it was probably Elrohir—he didn't stray far from her these days. If someone had to bother her right now, he would be the least intrusive, but she would get no more thinking done here tonight, she was certain of that.

The rider hesitated before dismounting, which made Jeren curious. And then when he did finally get off the horse, she heard distinct footsteps, so she knew it wasn't Elrohir after all. She sat up to see who it was, and got another shock this day: it was Rhyse. He slowly walked toward her, and then sat down beside her.

They sat in tense silence for a very long while, but finally Rhyse spoke, his voice hushed and solemn. "I didn't know you were out here. I needed a quiet place to think things over, and I naturally remembered this pond."

"So did I," Jeren agreed, but she did not go on.

Then they suddenly turned toward one another and began talking at the same time. They each chuckled nervously, and then Rhyse said, "Jeren, what is between you and Elrohir? I was always half jealous of him being around you, but I did not truly think you had feelings for him."

"I have always loved Elrohir—you knew that," she said in her defense, even though she knew she wasn't being fair.

"Jeren do not play me false," Rhyse said, his own voice taking on a defensive note. "You know what I am asking you; do not pretend otherwise."

"Then I will attempt to explain. I've always loved Elrohir—Elladan, too—and it didn't occur to me that you did not know that." She was still stalling for time, unsure as to exactly what she wanted to tell him. But, as usual, she finally decided on being honest—Rhyse deserved that. "True, in the past my regard for him had been more of family—as a brother—but that is changing." She sat up straighter, feeling as if she needed the power of height to help see her through informing Rhyse of these things. "You see Rhyse, Elrohir has proclaimed love of me—true, romantic love—and he has asked me to examine my heart, to see if I could perhaps return his love. So, since you told me when last you were here that I was no longer someone you could love—"

"—I did not say that, Jeren!" Rhyse protested loudly. "I said— I told you—"

"—that you did not believe you could love me were I not a ranger," she finished for him. "That is what you said, Rhyse."

He looked her directly in the eyes and said, "So, what have you told him?"

"I only told him that I had to settle things with you—decide if you and I were destined to be together or not. But I did decide to find out if Elrohir was someone I could love and cherish as a mate. And I am finding that he might be." She paused for a few seconds and then said, "Rhyse, do you love me still and want to marry me?"

Jeren couldn't see Rhyse's face well in the darkness, but the anguish radiating from him was not to be ignored. "How is your arm, Jeren?" he asked her, his voice raw with emotion.

Jeren couldn't believe her ears. He'd been gone this past month or more, with nothing but time to think about what she was asking him. "No, Rhyse," she said with finality. "It is wrong of you to base your love on my answer to that question. Either you love me and want to marry me, or you don't."

Rhyse ran his hand through his hair in agitation, but didn't answer for awhile. She could hear his rapid breathing, and then he shifted where he sat, his breath coming easier, as if he'd thought of a solution to his problem. "I see you rode out here alone, so I know that riding is no longer difficult for you. Therefore, you must be a great deal better."

"So now you intend to play me false," Jeren said smartly.

"What do you expect of me, Jeren?" he asked her, his voice ragged. "I love you, but sometimes that isn't all one needs to make a marriage work. I would hope that you know that."

"Of course I know that, Rhyse. Sometimes people who don't even love each other marry," Jeren replied. "There are hundreds, perhaps thousands, of arranged marriages among the gentry, and they stay married and some even grow to love one another. I've heard of Dúnedain couples who marry for convenience—the man is shy and not of the courting type, and the woman is alone and in need of protection. They've stayed married, and even if they do not share love, they do care for one another and live together. So I know that other things must be present for a marriage to work.

"But that is not how I want any marriage of mine to be! I want love to be first and foremost in any union I am a part of. But you have voiced doubt, when it comes to this injury of mine. The question is, Rhyse, if you will recall, whether or not you will be able to abide even looking at me, when I cannot do the things I once could do? Whether or not you can accept me, if I was to never wear the star again? Those are profound questions that you must answer to my satisfaction before I can answer you."

"I think you've already made your choice, Jeren," he told her. "You looked very decided when I saw you with Elrohir in your room earlier this evening. Had I not interrupted the two of you, you might have ended up in your bed—maybe you already have…" His distress echoed in the quietness around the pond.

Jeren was silent for only a moment. "I have not, Rhyse."

He didn't answer her, he just lifted his chin defiantly, as if he needed proof that what she was saying was true.

"I have not gone to _any_ bed with Elrohir. You have my solemn word." It never occurred to her to be insulted over Rhyse's comments. She felt guilty, after all, and he was right about doubting her faithfulness—she would have done likewise, had the tables been turned.

Rhyse got up from the ground and dusted off the seat of his pants. "I cannot speak about this right now, Jeren. I'm much too full of anger—or despair—I'm not sure which. I have to think about these things some more."

Jeren stood, too, but would not give way to his excuses. She had been torn by all this confusion in her life for much too long, and she wanted it resolved. "Regardless of what you witnessed a few hours ago Rhyse, you've had several weeks to examine your heart and whether you can accept me—with whatever limitations I might have. Have you no answer to that yet?" She grabbed his arm as he started to turn away, not allowing him to turn his back on her. "I can tell you now that yes, my arm is better, but the chances that I will ever ride as a ranger again are slim—I'd say very close to non-existent. I've now told you what you wanted to know. Now tell me what you have in answer to my questions."

"Elrohir's involvement changes everything, Jeren," he said. "I—"

"—it shouldn't!" she said angrily. "Are you determined to have me, whether you can be happy with me or not, just because someone else now wants me?"

He jerked his arm away from her, and said, his voice trembling, as if he were either near tears or close to doing her violence, "Leave me alone, Jeren. I will talk to you tomorrow, or the day after; I'm not sure which right now. I have to think. Just leave me alone." And he determinedly walked to his horse, mounted and rode back toward the house.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Elrond placed his elbows on his desk, and rested his chin in his hands. He rubbed his eyes with his fingers, trying to ease the scratchiness in them. They felt as if he'd kept them open for hours without blinking; perhaps he had. He sat up straight, trying to stretch his spine, and then relaxed with his arms out before him, each on either side of a large scroll he'd been reading.

The scroll pertained to history of the First Age, when Sauron still called himself Mairon, which meant The Admirable. Elrond shook his head and grimaced—Sauron had fallen far in his service to Melkor; he was by far _not_ admirable now, nor had he been in Ages.

There was a quiet knock on his study door. He frowned as he looked out the window, noting he no longer had a view of the moon, and thus deciding the time was well past midnight. _Who __would__ be __seeking__ him__ now?_

Instead of merely calling out the unknown person's entry, he felt obliged to open the door himself. Something about reading of the vile deeds of his enemy made him wary, even in the peacefulness of the valley, even with Vilya safely on his finger.

But he opened the door to someone he did not expect: Jeren was there, and he could tell immediately that she was unhappy. "Come in, Dear One. What has you walking about at this hour of the night? I would have thought you would have been abed for hours by now."

"I have been thinking about some very important matters, my lord," she answered. "Things I do not need advice about, so I do not know why I seek you out. I think I just have need of the comfort of your company, and if you do not mind, if I could just sit here with you, that would be enough for me. I will not bother you; you can go on working…"

He led her to the sofa on the far side of the room, and had her sit and then sat beside her. "I am finished. I was just about to retire."

She started to rise, saying, "I am sorry, my lord. Don't let me keep you. I will just go to bed." She'd gotten to her feet, but he reached for her hand and pulled her back down beside him.

"I know I will be too tense to get much rest. My work has left me uneasy, and with much on my mind. I will undoubtedly go to bed and lie there thinking. I might just as well—and more happily, I can assure you—spend the time with you if you are determined to be awake."

Jeren leaned against the Elf lord, resting her head on his shoulder as he brought his arm around her. She thought about how sad his life might be. His wife, whom he loved with all his heart, had sailed to the Undying Lands, and he spent day after endless day here in Middle-earth without her, going upstairs to an empty bedroom night after miserable night. She smiled to herself at the bent her thoughts were taking. Just because she was miserable, did not mean that everyone was so.

"You are sure there is nothing I can help you with?" he asked, belatedly remembering the last time he'd posed that question to her. She had turned around and asked him rather pointed questions about Elrohir's intentions toward her. He hoped that _that_ was not the subject she was fretting over. He hadn't the stamina to get into that now.

But Jeren just shook her head and remained quiet.

"I understand that Glorfindel has agreed to take you on for training again," Elrond said.

Jeren smiled. "Yes, he has. And I promise, my lord, I will not ruin it this time. I enjoyed my time with Elrohir, but Glorfindel is already making a difference, even after only a day."

"I noticed at our evening meal that you move your arm more easily now," he said, but as his eyes lit on her injured limb, he frowned. "It is quite swollen, though, Young One. You really should have brought this to my attention earlier." He started to rise, but she held onto his robe, not willing to let her comforter go.

"Please—do not leave," she pleaded. "I promise, I will get up early in the morning and go to the Healing Halls so you can work some of your magic on it. But I cannot be late to the armory; I promised Lord Glorfindel that I would be prompt from now on."

Elrond settled back down in the chair beside her, cradling her head on his shoulder again. "I am sorry; I cannot neglect you for the entire night. When we decide to go upstairs, we will detour to the Healing Halls, and I will work my magic on your arm before you sleep."

Jeren laughed. "I will agree to that. Thank you, Lord Elrond. I am so grateful to have you in my life. I value your love and care beyond measure." She paused for a moment, but then added, "I could never be thankful that I was attacked by Orcs, but sometimes I marvel that such a horrible experience led to knowing some of the most wonderful people. I love you…"

He squeezed her and kissed the top of her head, and then said, "I love you, too, Dear One."

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Jeren opened her door and let herself in, closing it quietly behind her. She'd just parted with Lord Elrond, after having been to the Healing Halls and letting him poultice her arm for the night. She leaned against the door, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness. Daeron or Naith usually came in and lit a lamp or a candle for her. Hmmm…

She wasted no time getting ready for bed, not bothering with a lamp either. The light from the half moon tonight was more than adequate for her to see what she needed to see. As soon as she was in her nightdress, she went to the doorway to the veranda and grabbed the curtain to pull it closed. She caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. She gasped at the surprise of it all, and Elrohir quickly gained his feet, coming inside to reassure her it was only he.

"I am sorry, Jeren," he said, completely apologetic.

"Scare the life out 'o me, why don't'cha!" she said, her hand resting on her heaving chest. It took a minute for her to catch her breath.

Elrohir chuckled quietly and apologized again. "I am very sorry, Jeren. I only wanted to make sure you made it safely inside for the night."

She wouldn't be easily appeased. Showing fear always got her ire up. "What? I cannot take care of myself? Here? In Rivendell? What you must think of me!"

"You do have a lion's heart, lady, but you are still not quite up to fighting form. A fall from your horse is always a viable chance, even here in Imladris."

"I am fine, Elrohir, as you can see. Now I think I should be getting to sleep. Glorfindel expects to see me bright and early in the morning."

He heaved a big sigh, and Jeren could tell he had something on his mind. At first he didn't say anything, but when she impatiently jerked the curtain across the doorway, he finally said, "Could I just sit out here for awhile longer? Just until I know you are sleeping? I will not bother you. I just need to be near you. I don't really want to be alone right now."

Jeren's heart was lost with his words and the desperate tone she'd heard in them. She wondered to herself if she'd sounded that way earlier, when she pleaded with Elrond to please allow her to sit in his company. Elrohir must be feeling the same restlessness that she was.

She took hold of his hand and started to lead him back out to the veranda. He shook his head and resisted her pull outside. "No, Jeren. You need to sleep. You must already be exhausted. It is very late, and the shock of Rhyse arriving as he did, not to mention the hours you spent training with Glorfindel, must have you near collapsing. Please, let me help you into your bed, and then I will leave you. I don't want you awake on my account."

Jeren placed her fingers on Elrohir's lips, to stay their movement. It didn't seem as if he was ever going to finish this speech. She could see him smile slightly in the moonlight, could feel his lips move under her fingertips.

"No, Elrohir, there's something I want to tell you, first." She shoved her way past the gauzy curtain and pulled him outside with her. Then she turned to face him, her hands on his waist. "I saw Rhyse tonight, down by the pond; the one with the cedar trees—"

"—Jeren, you don't have to tell me anything—"

"—Elrohir, please… I _want_ to tell you this, and I believe you will be glad in the hearing of it, if you will just let me speak."

He closed his mouth and patiently waited for her to continue with what she'd been saying.

"I have the answers to my questions," she said, and she was very surprised that she finally knew who it was that she wanted to spend all the rest of her days with.

"Rhyse has told you he no longer loves you?" Elrohir asked, hoping his tone hadn't sounded too joyful.

"Not in words," she replied. "Well, in words, but not in so many words. It was things that he said, and things he left unspoken, that finally led me to my conclusions. The funny thing is, I didn't know it myself until I found you here in the moonlight. I realized that I always wanted to treasure seeing you, as I did tonight. Well, after I got over the fright you gave me."

"You fought with him, then?" he asked, his voice no longer so hopeful.

This talk with Elrohir wasn't going at all the way she thought it would. "Well, our conversation wasn't entirely genial, if that's what you mean."

"What I mean is, if he made you angry, perhaps that is what has helped you draw your conclusions."

"No, Elrohir; it is not anger that has stirred me toward a final answer." She walked to the railing and looked out over the peacefulness of nighttime in the valley. There were lamps lit at intervals along the main walkways, and they glittered as their flames danced on their wicks. "When I asked Rhyse if he had determined whether he still loved me enough to have me, even were I no longer a ranger, he told me that your involvement with me changed everything. And if that is his answer to the question I posed, then I know his love for me is not the genuine thing."

Elrohir huffed out a quiet laugh. "I do not believe what I am about to say, but— I must say it, for your sake. I have some understanding of the male mind, Jeren, and I can tell you that Rhyse is not thinking clearly right now. He's eaten alive with jealously at having seen the two of us together. To base your life's decision on what he says when he is full of emotion is not the wisest course. Perhaps he meant what he said tonight, but chances are he did not even know what he was saying."

If Jeren hadn't been so frustrated with Elrohir's logic, she would have kissed him for being so thoughtful—so careful with her feelings and her life. She supposed he was always mindful of the fact that she was Human, with a finite amount of time on this earth, and he wanted to make sure—if he had any say in the matter—that she used it carefully and wisely, thinking things through completely and then making decisions.

She let her chin drop to her chest in irritation. On one hand she wanted to shout at him, and on the other, she agreed with him completely.

"What, Jeren?" he asked her. "Speak your mind, please."

"I am so very tired of this sea of emotion that I have been in, Elrohir. I thought it was over, but now you've made me see that it is not. I thought I had decided, and that would be that. But you are right; I should give Rhyse another chance to be clear about what he means. He said he needed time to think. And if I am fair, I will give it to him."

She walked a few steps away, but then turned back to face him. "I think I've half fallen in love with you Elrohir, but I'm not even sure about that. I've always loved being in your company—well, some of the time—but now, I enjoy it all of the time. And I would be lying if I said I did not enjoy kissing you…" She could see the shadows playing over his face as he smiled. "But I think I need to slow myself down, at least for a while. Mayhap if you and I only saw each other at meals? At least while Rhyse is here. Maybe I could get a clearer grasp on things?"

He walked toward her and took both of her hands into his. "I think that is a very wise plan. I will miss being with you, but I think it will be time well-spent for you." He looked into her eyes as he drew her closer. While it was dark, it wasn't so dark as to obscure the very real desire on his face. "Would it be wrong of me to want a kiss now? It might have to last me a lifetime—depending on what you and Rhyse decide."

Jeren smiled and she drew him closer still. The kiss they shared had them both breathless by the time Elrohir parted from her slightly.

He smiled as he backed away. "I'd better go before we both do something we will regret."

Jeren quietly told him good night. He backed up a few more steps and then went out the door, leaving Jeren standing in the moonlight.

She shook her head slightly as she said to herself, "I don't think I would have regretted a thing, Elrohir…"

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**A/N: Again it is time for me to thank the reviewers, without whom I could not go on: Thanks a million to Duck, ******Nell******, ****dr3, Shycoyotegirl, Song in the Woods, Livia09, Sadie Sil, Brandibuckeye, Lady Anne, Teacalm, and Elfinabottle. Your taking the time to review really encourages me. And a special thanks to Sadie, for all her help.****  
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	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

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Jeren got up the following morning with renewed resolve—about many things. She was determined to get her arm healed to the extent that it would ever heal and as soon as possible. She intended to work at it until she dropped, if need be. And she was going to talk to Rhyse soon. He would have to be the one who would initiate their next meeting, since he'd told her plainly that he wanted to be left alone until he was ready to talk. But she wasn't prepared to wait for long. She was tired unto death of the emotional ups and downs of being torn between two men at once. Well, a man and an Elf.

She'd been angry at Rhyse for his impatience with her the last time he was here in Rivendell. She was a little afraid she might be confused about her anger, getting it all mixed up with her feelings for Rhyse. Was she just angry at him, or had she fallen out of love with him? She was confused about it all. And regardless of what Elrohir had advised, about giving Rhyse another chance to speak his piece, she believed that she was falling in love with the Elf, especially after finding him waiting for her last night.

She smiled to herself. Who would have ever thought such a thing could have happened? She wouldn't have, that's for sure. She could have happily pinched Elrohir's head off on many, many occasions during most of the time that she had known him, but he was no longer that exasperating Elf. She thought that, on some level, he had known all along that he loved her in this way, but in order to protect them both from such a revelation, he had unconsciously considered her as family. Then Lord Elrond's mind healing had made Elrohir's carefully constructed wall come tumbling down, marking a profound change in him.

She thought back to her feelings for Elladan and how she'd believed so completely that she was in love with him. She'd not questioned it in her mind; she'd had no doubt at all. She'd been young, he'd been so extremely handsome and he had rescued her from the most hideous of circumstances. Lord Elrond had tried to tell her that her feelings originated from just those things, but she'd never really thought that was why she'd fallen so much in love with his son. She'd had no experience with love at the time, nothing to compare it to. Now she thought, when she looked back at it all, that Lord Elrond had been right, and she had been infatuated with Elladan. And since she was being honest with herself, she believed that getting Elladan to love her had been another challenge; just another fight she'd been compelled to win. She'd failed—miserably—and she was now thankful for that. While Elladan would always hold a special place in her heart, it was never Elladan that she had gone to in times of trouble or strife. No, she'd sought out Elrohir. It was always Elrohir. And he'd loved her through it all.

She put on her training clothes, and then struggled with her hair. Before she'd gotten dressed she'd removed the bandage from her arm and rinsed off the poultice that Lord Elrond had administered the night before. Her arm was still very swollen and was horribly sore this morning. She didn't know how she was going to do the things Lord Glorfindel would require of her, but she would do them all. She might be reduced to tears before the training was over for the day, but she intended work this arm until it gave out from sheer exhaustion.

As she tried to braid her hair—for the fourth time—she cursed her decision to not see Elrohir until after Rhyse was gone from Rivendell. She sniffed as the pain caused tears to well in her eyes. She had half a mind to take her brush and seek Elrohir out anyway, just so that he could do this for her, because try as she might—especially with the swelling and soreness of her arm today—it would not bend at the elbow enough to allow her to neatly plait her hair. She almost threw her brush again, but decided against it. There was a distinct scuff mark on the door already, from where she'd thrown it yesterday.

She put the brush down on the table in front of her with finality. There was just no other way—she was going to have to find someone to help her. So she got up, and, taking her brush and the small piece of leather to bind the end of the finished braid, she left her room. She stood in the hallway, torn as to whether to go left and seek Elrohir, go downstairs and hunt until she found Naith, or go directly across the corridor and ask Lord Elrond to do it for her.

_Oh, she couldn't do that! That was completely beneath his station!_

Just as she was about to take a step to the left, the door to Elrond's bedchamber opened and he emerged. His brows went up when he noticed her hair loose about her shoulders. When he also saw the brush in her hand, he knew exactly what she was about.

He turned her around, opening her door again and ushering her through it. Without a word, he sat her down on the stool in front of her dressing table and, taking the brush from her hand, he began using it on her hair.

"I cannot ask you to do this," Jeren muttered between clenched teeth, as the stain of a blush crept up her neck.

"You did not ask it," he said plainly, "I have volunteered." He placed the brush on the table and began the braiding. "I often did this for my young daughter, when she had the need and my wife was indisposed in some way. Usually it was very early of a morning, and Arwen wanted to be out riding before the rest of the household was even awake. She would tiptoe into our room, and for whatever reason, she always enlisted my help for this task." He looked at her slyly, saying, "Well, I know the reason—she said her mother was not careful, and would tug and pull at snares in her hair. She told me that I didn't do that." He smiled at her in the mirror, but then his smile faded to a frown.

"I see my poultice did not do its job overnight as I'd hoped. After our morning meal, I will mix up another, with a few different ingredients, and have someone place it in the cold spring for awhile. Then I will apply it and hopefully, it will do the trick. I think you should not do training today, Jeren."

"Oh please, Lord Elrond, don't say no," she pleaded. "I must. I do not want Lord Glorfindel to find me slacking already."

"It isn't slacking if you are unable to perform," he said in a reasonable tone. "He will not want you practicing under such a disadvantage, just as I do not."

"Please?" she begged. "If he sends me away because I cannot do as he asks, then I will come directly to you for your healing; I promise. But please let me do this! I want my arm to be better and it cannot be so if I do not work at it. I have wasted too much time already. Perhaps if I had been doing what you told me to do all along, I would not be having this problem now. So you see? This is completely my fault, and I must suffer the consequences."

"I wish not to argue with you—this morning or ever," he said with firmness.

She inwardly cringed when she realized she had been doing just that—arguing like a petulant child.

"It will do no good to overextend this arm and reinjure it. I will speak to Glorfindel and make sure he understands the situation. He can decide for himself whether to proceed or not."

"Yes, my lord," Jeren agreed. She wasn't likely to get a better compromise than this from him.

They then went down to the dining hall to their morning meal. Everyone else was already there—even the wayward Human with the broken ankle. Elrond exhaled loudly when he saw Aragorn, and he frowned and shook his head as he walked past the Chieftain to get to his own place at the table. Jeren had a sneaking suspicion that Aragorn wasn't trying to be difficult, but that he truly enjoyed the camaraderie with his family. He naturally wanted to be where they would all gather, since occasions when they were together were too few.

Jeren sat down opposite Elrohir, and she gave him a small smile, which he returned. Rhyse was not there, and Jeren was thankful for that, because seeing him at the same table with Elrohir would have been very awkward. He ordinarily wouldn't have ever been to the Lord of Rivendell's table, unless he'd been invited especially, but since Rhyse and Jeren were so close, he'd been included because of her. Yet she had a feeling that he might never be here again.

That thought made her sad. She was afraid she could not be completely happy, no matter which one of them she chose. Someone would be hurt, and she hated the thought of that. She could not imagine at this point anything that Rhyse could say that would change her feelings—she could not do without Elrohir in her life, and Rhyse would not understand that. She thought about Rhyse with sorrow; she had loved him, but she could not honestly say that she did any more.

Regardless of what he'd said last night—or had not said—in the heat of emotion and jealousy, she feared that he'd killed any love she had for him when he'd rejected her because of her injury. And part of her also knew that that wasn't fair, because for the longest time, she'd not been herself. He had said all the awful things to the person she had been at the time; the person who had felt so responsible for Haleth's death; the person who irritated Rhyse beyond reason.

Perhaps she should keep an open mind, and give Rhyse another chance before she made her final decision. It had not been Rhyse's fault that he'd chosen to argue with her when she'd been so despondent over Haleth. But neither had it been Jeren's. She could not help her reaction to Haleth's death—she'd not understood it for the longest time. Not until Elrohir had helped her put it into perspective and understand herself a little better.

Rhyse could have had patience with her at the time, as the others around her had, but he'd not done that. He'd lashed out at her, wanting her to quit the behavior he'd not liked—change back to who she had been—at his demand. But that had not been in her power, and it made Jeren wonder how many more such incidents as this they might could have in their lives, if she were to give in and allow him back into her heart. Yet she was pretty sure that was no longer possible.

She'd changed, she realized now. And at the moment, she wasn't sure if it was for the better. There was a vulnerable side to her that she could not hide, and that was something that she knew would make Rhyse unhappy. She needed the help of those around her, and she did not know if that would ever change. She'd always been a very independent woman, and that is one of the things Rhyse had loved most about her. If her arm did not progress any more, then a certain dependence on others was something she would have to get used to. She wasn't sure how she felt about that, but she was fairly certain that Rhyse would not be able to accept that new aspect of her life, if it were something permanent.

Asking for help had never been a thing she could easily do, but this injury had forced her to do it, over and over again. Hopefully, she would gain more use of her limb as time went on, and she would be able to accomplish simple things on her own again. But she couldn't count on that, and neither could Rhyse. Who was to say? Maybe Rhyse would make the decision for her, and tell her he no longer loved her enough to take on the care she might require.

"—I am more than ready for that. Count me in," Aragorn said.

Jeren came out of her reverie gradually, not knowing exactly what was being discussed.

"Count you _out_!" Elrond interjected, to the moans of an unhappy Aragorn.

"We will keep him in line, Father—" Elladan started, trying to keep his voice neutral.

"—and we will not let him hurt himself again," Elrohir finished with a wicked smile for Estel.

"I cannot count the numberless times I've heard that same promise from the same four lips," Elrond put in with what seemed like finality to Jeren. "The answer is 'no'!"

"But Father, a hunt—" Aragorn said, his voice pleading.

"Do not 'but Father' me, Estel. I am the one who has put you back to rights the countless times I went against my better judgment and listened to these two. And this time you are injured before you even set out. The answer is 'no'!"

Jeren felt the same wistfulness that she could see on Aragorn's face. She would love to be out in the wild hunting with the twins. It was always an adventure, and she'd not been allowed to go but twice before. But she knew it was not in her future this time, just as it did not seem to be in Aragorn's.

She knew that hunting was not something Aragorn did on any sort of a regular basis. He had too many responsibilities to see to, and there were others at the settlement whose task it was to bring in game when needed. Her heart fell completely when she heard Glorfindel's comment.

"I am going with them, if it makes any difference in your decision." Glorfindel looked at Elrond, as if he were indeed giving his oath that if the Lord of Imladris allowed Aragorn to go on the hunt, Glorfindel would personally see that the promise of bringing the Human back uninjured would be adhered to. "I've been cooped up here for far too long. You know Elrond, it might do you good to get outside for a time, too."

"I am sure you are right, my friend, and I appreciate the invitation, but I cannot get away at this time. And Estel—that ankle needs to heal. You are behind schedule as it is, with Gandalf's request."

Jeren watched as she saw the young boy in Aragorn's face drift away to be replaced with that of the careworn Chieftain of the rangers. That Aragorn was an adult and could go against Elrond's demands was apparent. The Chieftain was mainly having this argument with himself. "You are right, Father. I have no business going on a hunt. I will do as you advise and stay off this foot better than I have been doing. I needs be in Bree before the end of the month."

"And that is short time for the mending of bone," Elrond added, and the look on his face told anyone who saw it that he completely sympathized with his foster son.

Aragorn simply nodded as the twins and Glorfindel continued making their plans.

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Glorfindel looked closely at Jeren's injured arm, peering at it with such concentration that she wondered exactly what he was seeing.

"Make a fist," he commanded, and Jeren complied. She tried to keep the pain Glorfindel was causing her from showing on her face, as he kneaded her upper arm with his large, strong fingers, poking and prodding the muscles. When he had finished whatever it was he was doing, he eased her arm back down to her side.

"No, we should not work this arm today, and I will be gone for a few days on the hunt, so it should have plenty of time to heal again. In the meantime, do this: make a fist and relax it, ten times to a count of ten. And do that several times each day. It will keep the blood moving and reduce the swelling. I'm sure Elrond will have a poultice for it before long."

"Yes, Arms Master." Jeren could not help the crestfallen note in her voice.

Glorfindel smiled. "You are a paradox, Girl. At first you were full of whining and complaining about doing the work, and now you are obviously disappointed that you cannot do it."

"I had a change of heart about the healing of this injury shortly after I disobeyed your command and lost your aid the first time you offered it. Now I truly want my arm to be as well as it can possibly be, and I am made to wait. But that is of my own doing. I always lament my mistakes, my lord."

"A very wise action, Girl."

Jeren looked at Glorfindel for a long moment, wanting to ask him something and not knowing if she should. She was ever mindful of what he'd said to Lord Elrond during their argument, and she did not in any way want to give Glorfindel more reason to resent her presence here in Rivendell. He acted toward her as he always had, but she still felt the need to tread more lightly than she had in the past.

"Permission to speak, Arms Master?"

"You have been speaking; why the request now at this late time?"

"I am sorry, Arms Master. I got out of precise habits, having been out of your tutelage for these last three years. I remembered too late about 'asking before addressing'."

At Glorfindel's nod, Jeren continued, "I would like your true opinion about something, my lord." Jeren was trying to choose her words carefully, because what she wanted to know had everything to do with Rhyse and the difficulties between the two of them. "This question is probably much too premature—but since it seems as if you can see things in my arm—through the very skin—I hope you might have some insight as to whether you think it will ever be hale enough to hold up in battle."

Glorfindel looked away, as if studying the horizon, but then looked back at her, staring her directly in the eyes. "I will not lie to you, Girl. I think the chances of you seeing battle again are not very good. But you hold the key to that, yourself. With very hard work, I think your arm can be strong again. But these fingers," and here Glorfindel took her hand in his, flattening her fingers against his palm, and then letting them go. She held the first two fingers straight in his hand, but the last two immediately curled inward. "These fingers will not ever function properly. I know not if Elrond can correct it with further surgery. I think not, or it would have been corrected at the time he worked on the original injury. Their lack of utility weakens your grip. The only way you will see battle again, I believe, is with the use of your other arm and hand."

"I appreciate your honest opinion, Lord Glorfindel," she said. "I will work hard to get the other arm as strong and practiced as it can be, so that it might take over where the other has left off."

"That is all you can do," Glorfindel agreed. "It is the warrior's way." He thought that his opinion might have devastated her, but instead of weeping at his revelation, she'd thanked him for his time. _Little did she know that his flagging respect for her had just been repaired the smallest bit._

She bowed to him and left, going to find Lord Elrond so that he could work his healing on her.

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After the noon meal, Jeren had gone to the Healing Halls with Elrond, and he had applied the newly-made and very cold poultice to Jeren's hurt arm. He even put it into a sling, which surprised her. She'd used one very briefly after the splint had come off, but the Elf lord felt that the more she tried to use her limb normally, the sooner it might get better, so she'd not used the aid for long.

And now Jeren was in the library again, finding the book by Captain Thorongil. She wanted to read it once more—study it well. She was sure that, even with her rapt interest her first time through it, she was bound to have missed some of the finer details, and since it was the only one of its kind, she really didn't have much choice if she wanted to learn all she could about battles and planning them.

As soon as it was in her hands, she took it outside into the courtyard, finding a seat on one of the benches in the shade. She read for over an hour and was now resting her eyes by letting them wander over the garden around the perimeter of the courtyard. The garden consisted mostly of a tall, bushy hedge, but there was a mass of vines covering the ground in front of the shrubs that had little yellow flowers dispersed throughout it. Jeren wasn't much of a gardener—her mother had had some herbs and some flowers around their little cabin, and while Jeren appreciated them, Jennah had been unable to lure her daughter away from her weapons long enough to learn about the actual planning, sowing and tending of the plants.

She continued looking at her surroundings, and her eyes lit on the low wall between the courtyard and the actual library. Aragorn was sitting there, the leg of his mending ankle stretched out across the stones. He was talking to Bilbo, the old Hobbit that lived here in Rivendell. Jeren hadn't seen the Hobbit much, even when she'd first come to Imladris. He kept himself busy in his apartments—writing a book, he said. And then when she had joined the rangers, she had seldom been here to forge a deep friendship with him. They greeted each other in passing, but didn't sit together often enough in order to learn much about one another.

But Aragorn and Bilbo seemed to be having an animated conversation. Bilbo was waving his hands with whatever he was saying, eliciting lots of laughter from Aragorn. Jeren wondered what it could be that they were discussing, but they were certainly too far away to catch even hints of their words. It was nice to see the Chieftain look so carefree, when Jeren knew he had many weighty problems on his mind. And now, thanks to Elrohir, she had a good idea as to what some of those problems might be.

"Jeren…"

She looked up at Rhyse when he spoke, startled to see him standing there beside her. She was not surprised that he'd found her here, only that she'd not been aware of his approach.

"Rhyse," she said in reply.

He continued to stand, so she invited him to sit.

"I— I would like— to talk to you," he said haltingly, "but not here. Could we—go to your room, perhaps?"

Jeren searched his face, his eyes in particular, trying to figure out what he was going to say to her by his manner or expression. She couldn't, so she rose and said, "Of course. Let's go."

They made their way silently through the halls of the house, Jeren greeting the Elves that she knew as she met them on the way. At last they made it to her room and she opened the door to allow their entrance. She laid her book on the bed, and then slipped her arm out of the sling and tossed it down next to the book.

She led the way out onto the veranda, where she sat and motioned for Rhyse to do likewise.

When they were settled in their chairs, Rhyse sat there stone-faced, not saying anything.

"Rhyse?" Jeren prompted. "What did you want to say?"

"I am the one who said he'd like to talk, but I don't know where to start," he said plainly. He then sat up straighter in his chair, as if strengthening his spine for rough terrain, as he might on a long trip on horseback.

Jeren watched his handsome face as emotion played across it. As a general rule, Rhyse wasn't very easy to read—he usually kept his feelings hidden well. But now he was as transparent as a gossamer veil. He was angry and hurt, and felt justified in holding this viewpoint as well.

"We might be at a stand-off," he started. "I want you to voice what your intentions are, but you want me to do that first. I don't feel as if I can until I hear what you have to say."

"I can tell you what I have to say," Jeren replied. "I wanted to hear you out first, thinking it might change my mind somewhat. I don't know if it will, but it could, I suppose."

"Please," he said quietly. "Go on."

"All right. And remember, you asked me to do this." Jeren leaned forward in her chair now, her forearms on the table with her fingers clasped. She saw when Rhyse realized that she was using her bad arm, and she could see his expression lift, as hope seemed to flood through him.

"Before you left Rivendell the last time, you said many things to me. I deserved some of them, but not all. The thing I've been dwelling on most is your not being able to deal with my never using weapons again. You told me that you fell in love with a warrior; it was a ranger that you cherished." With a wince she turned her bad arm over so that the palm of her hand was exposed. Her arm was still very sore and swollen, even though she'd been doing the exercises that Lord Glorfindel had suggested off and on all day. So far, nothing had changed. With her left hand, she pressed those fingers down, so that their backs were against the table. She then let go, and with concentration, she was able to keep the first two fingers flattened. But as she expected, the last two sprang up and curled toward the the inside of her hand.

"As you can see, I will never be able to grip a sword competently with this hand ever again. It is not my opinion I am telling you—it is the judgment of the Imladris Arms Master—Lord Glorfindel. I could perhaps train my other arm and hand to wield a sword proficiently, but nothing is certain, and it will only happen with much practice and over a great length of time. You know the difficulty I had learning the sword with my right hand. It will be twice as hard changing it to my left."

"This isn't all bad news, Jeren," Rhyse said hopefully. "You have fine teachers here; they will see you through this transition. But truthfully, I am more relieved that your attitude is a thousand times better! You are sounding like yourself again."

"Yes, I know I _sound_ like myself again, Rhyse," she admitted, "but I am not the same, nor will I ever be, most likely. I feel more like myself on the inside now, but on the outside—I cannot even braid my own hair. I can barely wash it myself. I need help with the most basic things. I've switched to eating and writing with my left hand—I'm not very proficient at either yet—and I cannot saddle Two nor mount without help. Perhaps with time these things might ease, but there are no guarantees that they will. And I am not prepared to deal with your anger or scorn when my limitations might inconvenience you."

He tilted his head to the side and his mouth tightened, as if he were challenging the accuracy of her read of the way he might react. But she didn't give him a chance to voice his objections.

"No, Rhyse, I am not the same woman I was before that Orc's blade met the bone of my arm. But I suppose I changed even before that—I am not the same woman I was before I met Haleth and I let her slip from my grasp."

"I curse the day that girl was rescued!" Rhyse said vehemently. He visibly tried to relax, and then in a much milder but more determined voice he added, "That was what changed you so profoundly. I had hoped that you sounding like yourself again heralded the return of the way you were prior to Haleth's death. But are you saying that you still do not think you are free of her?" He looked confused and Jeren didn't blame him.

"I'd say I'm mostly freed from the guilt of Haleth's death," she said, "but not completely. I will always wonder if I could have done more, but Elrohir made me see that she was probably doomed from the—"

"Elrohir!" Rhyse's interruption was almost a snarl, but he left it at that. Jeren would have laughed at his resemblance to a rabid wolf, but the subject they were discussing was much too somber for that.

"Yes—Elrohir," Jeren said after a moment had passed. "Like it or not, Rhyse, Elrohir is a part of my life and will remain so for as long as I live. If by some miracle you and I resolve our differences, you will still have to bear with Elrohir."

"Some miracle? Have we fallen so far away from each other?" he asked.

"Yes, Rhyse, we have," she said. "Would you be able to abide his presence in my life, were you and I to reconcile?"

"I cannot imagine having him butting into our lives for a minute, much less the rest of my days. He is standing between us, Jeren!"

"In spite of what you saw upon your return here, he is not standing between us! He is standing beside me, where he's been for as long as I've known him. You, however, are truly fair-weather—as long as life goes to your liking you stand with me, but when storm clouds move in, you run for cover."

"That's not true, Jeren, and you know it," Rhyse said heatedly. "I live at the settlement—it's where my work is—how could I stand by you when you refused to leave Rivendell?"

Rhyse might have believed he'd gotten a significant point across, because Jeren was quiet for a time. In reality she was fighting her temper, not wanting to promote the shouting match that Rhyse seemed determined to have.

"Your memory is certainly sketchy, Rhyse. You seem to remember only what you wish to. You know I am not speaking of needing your physical presence, but of your support and forbearance in all things."

"Did you or did you not refuse to go back to the settlement with me?" he asked in challenge, ignoring most of her previous comment.

"I did refuse; but you are either obtuse or intentionally choosing to recall only part of the truth. What if I had gone back with you? What would you have done when my mood, instead of improving, went steadily downward because you are more invested in your work than in how I might feel? We were shouting at each other before you even left here—think you that would have improved, had I not gotten some wise counsel?"

"There is wisdom at the settlement that isn't _Elvish_, Jeren," Rhyse said, as if she were a wayward child and he the bothered parent. "Lord Marach is a wonderful healer and a caring man. He could have counseled you."

"Without knowing me—really knowing me and my history?" Jeren stopped talking abruptly, realizing this was getting them nowhere. Talking about what might have been was just so much useless flapping of lips.

"Rhyse, we could talk circles around each other all day, and all that we will gain is tired tongues. If this is your idea of mending our fences, then I believe we do indeed have a large problem. I only wanted to know if you could accept me, were I no longer a warrior, and all you can seem to talk about is Elrohir. It isn't me who keeps bringing him between us, it is you."

"What do you expect, Jeren, when my first glimpse of you upon my return was of you in his arms?"

"All right Rhyse—I understand your point," she said, trying to remember that she _was_ in the wrong where that incident was concerned. "But answer me this—" She paused just the slightest moment, and then went on, "I know you well. The Rhyse I know will keep at a problem until he has fought through it, and then he lets it go, to be onto the next problem. And what I believe, since I do know you so well, is that you have been thinking about us a great deal—ever since you left here—and you have come up with answers. I want to know what those answers were, before you saw me with Elrohir. What were you prepared to say to me when you arrived? And don't tell me you hadn't thought about this beforehand, because I would not be believing you."

Rhyse looked at her warily, seeming as if he were deciding what he would say, so as to not make things worse between them. "I know you think I have not been fair, Jeren," he said, "but I have my pride, too. When I caught you with Elrohir—kissing him—all logical thought left me and hasn't yet returned." He smiled ruefully. "As for what I had decided before my arrival here, yes, I had thought about it a very great deal and I had come to some conclusions." He stopped talking and looked at her for a minute, and then took her right hand into both of his.

"I know I love you more than I've ever loved another. I cannot imagine losing you forever. But, I also cannot imagine a life _with_ you, where you are not by my side out on patrol. As far as I was concerned, we were living a dream before this happened to you. The only thing that would have made it perfect would have been if we'd been wed.

"I want that back—us riding and fighting together. How can I be expected to give up on what I consider to be the perfect life?" He squeezed her hand, and then flattened those wayward two outer fingers against the tabletop. "If you are willing to work that hard, and you do get back to being a ranger, then I want to marry you and be with you forever."

There it was—Rhyse was still putting conditions on his love and on their plans to marry.

It was Jeren's turn to look away. "I've been doing a tremendous amount of thinking also, Rhyse," she said as she again turned her gaze on him. "Even if I could go back to being a ranger tomorrow, and I could again wield my sword and use my bow, I don't think I would want to, at least not all the time."

Rhyse pulled his hands away with an aggravated snort. "It's because of Elrohir, isn't it?"

"No, Rhyse, it isn't!" she said almost angrily. "What I am getting at has nothing to do with him, and if you would just listen with your mind open, you might hear what I have to say."

At his sullen nod, she went on, "I am no longer satisfied with just being out on patrol and killing Orcs day after day. I want to be an officer, Rhyse. I want to help with the strategies and planning. I don't know how to go about making that happen, but I aim to try."

Jeren was hurt when Rhyse laughed at her. He didn't laugh long, and when he saw her wounded expression, he stopped it completely. "I am sorry, Jeren, but you have to admit that's a pretty tall ambition. You were a ranger for all of three years. What makes you think that you would have been made an officer even in ten? You were extremely lucky to have even been recruited. Do you truly think Aragorn would ever entertain such a notion?"

"I do not know," she said in her most self-satisfied tone, "but he is here and I intend to ask him!"

They sat there quiet for awhile, Jeren with her chin in the air and Rhyse shaking his head. She finally said, "I worked hard as a ranger; I had been commended—_three times_, _Rhyse_—for duty above and beyond the call. I do not find my idea so far-fetched, and not the least bit _funny_! As for your perfect life, Rhyse—perfection is an illusion. Nothing is perfect, and even when it seems so, it is apt to fail in the end. The lasting things are hard-won and enduring, not fairy-story perfect."

"Do you think my life has been easy, and I only want what is easily gained, Jeren?" he asked her in return. "I have worked hard to get where I am. I was not automatically recruited just by virtue of who my father is. In fact, the opposite is true. I had to do everything, and twice as well—to prove that I was not being shown favoritism because my father is the exalted Halbarad." Jeren thought he was finished, but after a second he said, "And if anyone deserves to be promoted to an officer, it is _me_."

They again sat in silence, neither seeming to know what to say.

Jeren felt almost as if she were being false to Rhyse by this point in their conversation. The longer she was with him and the more she listened to him talk, the more convinced she was that he was no longer who she wanted to be with for the rest of her life. But she was not getting to the meat of the problem. She kept bringing up her plans and dreams, as well as Rhyse's shortcomings, as reasons for their strife. Perhaps it was time for her to mention her contribution to their troubles, too.

But whenever she tried to open her mouth and tell him that her love for him had all but died, and yes, Elrohir was indeed winning her heart, she had looked into his soulful grey eyes and kept herself from blurting the truth. She would have to tell him sooner or later, but her pride was in the way. She did not want the death of their love to be her fault—she wanted it to be his.

As she continued to sit here thinking of this, berating herself with thoughts that she was as much to blame in this as Rhyse was, she knew that unless she spoke her mind, she was taking the coward's way out.

"We keep dancing around the main issue—I am not who I was, nor will I be again, and you will not be able to live with that. And I have hopes and dreams that do not coincide with your plans for a perfect life, and I cannot live without fulfilling them, or at least trying very hard to do so. And—"

She paused because she did not want to say this…

She did not want to hurt Rhyse…

But it had to be said. Jeren knew in her heart that the two of them would never be happy together again.

"—I am no longer in love with you."

"—because you are in love with Elrohir!" he quickly added. The hurt that Jeren had hoped she would not cause was there on his face.

"I don't know if that's true, Rhyse," she said, with indecisiveness clearly in her voice.

"You don't know if that's true…" he muttered almost to himself, and then louder, "you don't _know_ if that's _true_?" His expression had gone from pained to angry in a heartbeat, and his voice had risen with every word. "I can tell you that it _is_ true! I saw you in his arms, kissing him like it was not new to you—as if you had done it many times before! And you have the nerve to tell me you don't know if you're in love with him?" Confusion was fighting with the anger on his face. He got up from his chair and paced around the veranda, as if he were pondering it all. He suddenly stopped, his expression falling into one of incredulity. "Unless—" He then looked her in the eyes and said, "Perhaps you are sluttish, and I was oblivious to it. I thought I was the first man you'd ever been with, but now…"

Jeren did not blame him for voicing such an opinion. What else was he to think, when even _she_ didn't know if he was wrong or not? In reality, he'd not been her first—Elladan had. So he had a valid point. But she refused to hang her head in shame over it now. It was something to hash out with herself at another time, not here in the heat of this argument.

"You may think as you will, Rhyse," Jeren said when she'd gotten over the initial shock of the insult. She was thankful that her voice did not quaver, because she felt dangerously close to tears.

"You know I do not really believe that," Rhyse admitted quietly after a pause. "I am sorry for saying it; you are in no way sluttish. Now that I've gotten that out of my system, it is my turn to be honest with you. You know I do not lose easily. You were right last night when you called me on it. It galls me that Elrohir is going to win you! You were mine, and your being with him is something I will never get used to. So yes, I've been fighting to keep what was rightfully mine away from Elrohir, and not because I thought that you and I being together was the best thing for us, but only because I did not want him to win you from me."

Jeren watched as emotions changed his expression. He'd started out humble and contrite, but as he'd gone on, she'd seen him set his chin in determination. He looked at her for several moments before he continued.

"I have been less than truthful to you about other things, too," he said. "You do know me too well. I've been letting my anger over being bested by Elrohir take over my thinking, as well as my speaking.

"Since I left Rivendell a month or so ago, I've thought about our circumstances often. As you said, I keep at a problem until it is solved. And while I meant what I'd said—that I would marry you the instant you were accepted for active ranger duty again—I do not truly believe that is ever going to happen. When I first saw the extent of your injury, I more or less kissed our perfect life goodbye. I also have ambitions, Jeren, and they do not include playing nursemaid to a woman as I steadily grow to resent her. That would not be good for either of us."

Jeren had to will the tears away, hearing Rhyse voice what she had feared, but he was right—she'd thought this same thing many times.

"So I had come to the decision to tell you what you've just told me—I am no longer in love with you. I will always love you with a portion of my heart, but it isn't the right sort of love a husband should have for his wife. I just don't love you with the deep love that I, like you, want from a spouse.

"All this does not make me proud of myself, Jeren. What sort of man turns his back on the woman he professes to love, especially when she's been injured? That's when I realized that I did not love you in a way that you should be loved by a man. Fair-weather is what you called me, and you were right about that."

As he ended his speech, he stopped right in front of Jeren. She looked up at him, her eyes swimming with tears.

"Neither of us have completely done the right thing in this, I don't suppose. But I am glad that you spoke your mind, Rhyse. I wanted to hear exactly your thoughts, and you've told them to me. Even though this hurts, I know we are doing the right thing for us in the long run. I do not want to be resented any more than you want to do it, and I know in my heart that that is where we are headed. And if we do get married to others someday, it should be to ones who love us more deeply than you and I love each other. It should be based on profound and abiding caring for someone; not on what we do, but who we are inside."

He reached for her and she rose, moving into arms that felt so familiar. He held her close, stroking her hair, and she laid her head on his shoulder.

Yes, this was the right thing to do, Jeren thought, but it certainly did hurt.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

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Jeren awoke to see Elrond placing a bowl on the table beside her bed. It took her a moment to orient herself as she sat up, and while she did, he lit the lamp.

"I am sorry for coming in without your leave to do so, but I knocked several times and you did not answer. I was becoming concerned."

"You always have leave to come in, my lord. 'Tis your house, remember?" she answered, as she rubbed at one of her eyes. Her hand stopped in midair, when she realized that not only was it dark outside, but that she had fallen asleep in her clothes.

He smiled as he watched her sleepy confusion and said, "It matters not. Why do you not go remove that bandage from your arm and get ready for bed? I will wait for you here."

"What is the time? It seems as if I had just lain down…"

"It is after evening meal; about two hours before midnight. When you did not come down to join us in the dining hall, Elrohir wondered what had become of you, and he asked me to check in on you." His brow furled before he added, "I wondered why he did not do it himself, but I was afraid to ask. The two of you haven't had some sort of quarrel, have you?" The wary expression on the Elf lord's face made Jeren smile.

"No, nothing like that. I will explain as soon as I've finished in the bathing room." She rose and fetched her nightdress from the wardrobe and left him.

She emerged a few minutes later, after she'd gotten dressed for sleeping. Elrond motioned for her to sit on the stool that usually stood before the dressing table, but that he had moved to beside the bed.

"So, why did Elrohir not check on you himself?"

"Because he was honoring my wishes," she replied. She cast her eyes downward and began nervously plucking at the skirt of her nightdress. "You see, Rhyse caught Elrohir and I—embracing—yesterday evening. Rhyse, unlike you, did not knock on my door before entering. It seems he wanted to surprise me, but I think he got the larger surprise." She raised her brows and turned her gaze to the Elf lord's face. "I told Elrohir that it would probably be better were he and I… not to see each other until after Rhyse left Rivendell."

Elrond finished applying the poultice and put the bowl back onto the table. He took up the roll of bandage and began winding it around her arm. His face seemed peaceful, but the tightness of his jaw belied that impression.

When he made no comment, Jeren went on, "Late this afternoon, I talked to Rhyse. You know how we left things between us when he last was here, do you not?"

"You told me that he did not want to wed you, were you not a warrior, and I told you that it was much too soon to make that assumption."

"Yes, that's it. I spoke to him the other evening, after he saw me with Elrohir, and we did not settle anything at all. He was still too angry. His temper was not much better this afternoon when we first began to talk, but after we worked through that, we came to an accord."

By now Elrond was finished with the bandaging. He stood there listening intently to what she was saying. She took a deep breath, trying to look anywhere but into the Elf lord's eyes.

"He and I have agreed we should go our separate ways." She quickly glanced up into his face, to see what she might read there. But as usual, he wasn't giving anything away.

"And it was a cordial parting for you both?" he asked. "He has not hurt you?" Jeren felt tears spring to her eyes at the concern she now saw on Elrond's face. She had been very afraid she would see apprehension there, because this now meant that she was free to fall in love with his son if she so chose. Instead he looked as if he were her father and would fight to the death anyone who hurt his daughter.

"No, my lord; he did not hurt me. I had come to the conclusion some time ago that we were no longer well suited, for several reasons. And the longer we talked today, the more convinced I was of that. No, this rift between us was irreparable—we were both in agreement about that."

Elrond stepped away, toward the veranda, but did not speak. Jeren didn't know exactly what else to say, but she could feel the tension coming from him as if it were a tangible thing.

"You know that Elrohir has professed his love to me, do you not?"

He turned back to face her and nodded, but did continued to remain silent.

"Do not worry, Lord Elrond," she said. "I love him, but time will tell just how that love will blossom. And I will not pull him toward any choice. You needs speak to him about that, my lord. I think you will be relieved by what he will tell you."

He walked over to stand before her, placing his hands onto her shoulders. "I am glad if you are happy," he said, but Jeren was sure his mood did not match his words. He was still worried about his son, and whether this turn of events might influence Elrohir's choice in the long run—whether to remain Elven or seek to join Jeren in Humanity, as Arwen seemed bent on doing with Estel.

His smile grew slightly as he embraced her, and then he kissed her lightly on the cheek and bid her goodnight. He made his way out the door, and Jeren stood where he'd left her. She worried for a moment, wondering if she was doing the right thing—loving Elrohir. She did not want to hurt Lord Elrond—he'd been so kind to her—he loved her. But she was afraid that she no longer had a choice about loving Elrohir now—not really. However, she _knew_ that as soon as Elrohir explained to his father how he never intended to choose Humanity, no matter who he was involved with, that Lord Elrond would change his stance and be happy for them. She just knew it.

With that thought she smiled. She had a mind to get dressed again and seek out Elrohir—tell him the happy news—that she and Rhyse had parted for good. But something told her it would not be a good idea. She was afraid that merely seeing him would spur her into his arms, and then who knew what might happen? As she thought about what that might be, heat rose to her face, making her blush, and then she remembered Rhyse's comment about whether she might be sluttish. No, it would be best to wait…

She hugged her arms, rubbing the gooseflesh that had formed on her skin. It wasn't from cold that her flesh dimpled, but from her thoughts of the Elf. She'd promised herself she would go slow this time, be very sure he was exactly who she wanted before she committed. Once she'd done that, there would be no turning back.

But she already knew what she wanted. She smiled to herself as she got into her bed.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren woke up the next morning at the usual time, but did not hurry to rise. She knew that the twins and Glorfindel would most likely be gone by now, setting off on their hunt. She sighed longingly, again wishing her arm was healed. If it was, she could have gone along with them, whether they liked it or not.

She'd learned hunting as a child—she'd been tutored by the best—her father. Of course she'd made no kills until after she'd mastered the bow during her training in Rivendell, but the time she'd spent with her father as he hunted had been fruitful. She had learned that when you sought game, you watched every single footfall, and were mindful of the drift of the wind, for fear that you might be scented by your prey. You had to be wary of wandering too close to brush and trees lest your clothing or weapon snag and snap a branch or twig, scaring the game. She could hold her own, even though her being female always brought forth doubt from the masculine hunters she would try to join.

And these hunters setting off today, being Elven, definitely would have tested her, because any misstep she might have made, they'd have heard and challenged. She'd become a more attentive hunter by accompanying the Elves, but their superior hearing and eyesight still meant that they had the advantage. During the few times she'd hunted with them, they had sometimes saved the shot for her so that her dignity didn't suffer too much, which she was grateful for, but she rarely came home with a kill herself.

And truth to tell, she really did not mind that at all. She didn't especially like killing animals, and only did so when duty called or when she was starving and there was nothing left in her pack to eat. She mostly just loved being with the twins, especially in the evenings when they'd set camp, cook and eat whatever they'd kill, and then sit around the fire and tell their stories. And the stories they told! Some were humorous and left her gasping for breath from laughing so hard, and many were from a thousand years ago, the depth and breadth of them leaving her awestruck. And missing a hunt with the twins _and_ Glorfindel? She shook her head in self-pity.

She sighed again, resignedly this time. She got up and got dressed and was about to head out her door to find someone to help her with her braid, when a piece of parchment on the floor caught her eye. She bent and retrieved it, immediately recognizing Elrohir's distinctive script. He must have shoved it beneath her door on his way out this morning.

_Dear Jeren,_

_I wanted badly to see you as I left for the hunt, but I thought better of it. You asked me to keep my distance while Rhyse is here, and though it pains me to do so, I will abide by your wishes._

_My only message to you this morning is this: I cannot wait to see your face again, and I love you with all my heart._

_That is all…_

_But that is much…_

_With all my love,_

_Elrohir_

Jeren felt tingly as she refolded the note, tucking it into one of her pockets, so that she could read it again later. She had almost been able to see Elrohir's beautiful smile, as she'd stood here reading his words. She vaguely wondered how she could have only just yesterday given up on her love of Rhyse and already today be smitten with Elrohir. Just yesterday she'd not known if she was in love with him or not, and now she couldn't wait to see him again; to touch him…to kiss him. But maybe she'd just been afraid to allow her heart to even wonder about how loving Elrohir might be, until she had cut ties with Rhyse completely.

She suddenly spied the brush in her hand and remembered what she'd been about to do—go find someone to help with her hair. She smiled and then laughed aloud, opening the door to let herself out.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

She'd been at loose ends, having nothing in particular to do. Her arm was still sore, and she'd been told to rest it. Lord Elrond reiterated last night that he hadn't given her the sling so that it could lie decoratively across the foot of her bed. But she hated the thing! It reminded her that she was not able to do so many of the things she used to take for granted, so she wanted no part of it. When she realized she'd forgotten it in her room, she refused to go back for it.

She'd ended up in the Healing Halls anyway, so that Lord Elrond could renew that poultice on her arm. As much as she wanted to get better, she was very tired of being bandaged and trussed up with slings and the like. She was beginning to hate the stink of the crushed herbs that he used in his medicaments, simply because they were used so often and the bandage was on her upper arm, within the vicinity of her nose. She'd ultimately gone back to her room after the morning meal to retrieve the sling as well as her book, and she'd again found herself outside in the library's courtyard. She'd been reading for almost half an hour when a shadow fell across the page in front of her.

"I never took you for a scholar," Aragorn said, one side of his mouth quirked up in almost a grin.

Jeren slid over to one side of the bench, and said, "Please sit, Lord Aragorn; remember your ankle."

"How could I forget?" he mumbled ruefully as he sat down beside her. He set his crutches aside and looked over at the book she had open on her lap.

"What are you reading?"

Instead of answering, she held the book toward him, spine outward, so that he could see the embossed title on it. He chuckled, which surprised her, but he said, "I never thought anyone had taken the time to read that old book."

"And why would they not?" she asked, perplexed. "It is very well-written and of absorbing subject matter. I wondered why its pages weren't ragged from being read repeatedly."

He frowned at her, not saying anything at first, but after a few moments, he asked, "Well have you learned anything from it?"

"Oh yes!" she said excitedly. "I've learned much of Gondor and some of Rohan. But the strategy used against those rascals of Umbar—it is priceless!"

"I am surprised by your enthusiasm. It really is not a tome of great import; not by any means."

"How can you say that?" she asked, affronted. "I imagine Captain Thorongil would not be happy were he to hear of your irreverence toward his book, especially since it is so good."

"I think he would probably agree with me."

"I think he most assuredly would not!"

She happened to glance at him as she finished her indignant remark, and was surprised to see that, instead of him scowling at her impossible cheekiness, he was smiling broadly, which, along with his teasing tone of voice, led her to doubting herself.

She blanched as she had a treacherous thought. "You—are… Captain Thorongil?"

He nodded. "One and the same. It was a name I took to calling myself at another time. I've had to be careful of my true identity, as I'm sure you're aware of by now. He paused for a moment, but then went on, "I'd come home after a very long while away and found myself with an excess of time on my hands. Thus this book…"

She stared at him for a moment, slack-jawed, and then she closed her mouth before she said, "Forgive me, Lord Aragorn. I truly did not know it was written by you."

They sat in silence for a few moments, just long enough for Aragorn to lift the book from her lap and slowly glance through it. Jeren could not help herself. She leaned over and looked at the pages as he flipped through them.

"How did you think to do this?" she asked, as she pointed at one of the diagrams he'd drawn. "It was an inspired strategy."

"There are natural inlets here and here," he said, as he positioned his finger next to the places he was trying to show her. "They are very well-concealed. Our ships cozied into them and went unseen until the trap was set and sprung."

Jeren smiled. Aragorn had noted how her face lit up with his explanations, and he wondered if she could be as good at strategy as he'd thought she might be. He'd had enough conversations with Joem, her patrol leader, about her behavior, which bordered on insubordinate at times. She would insist that he rethink the orders he'd given for his patrol to follow, and she always came up with a better idea. He could almost hear Joem now…

"_I ordered my patrol to take a stand in one place, and there was Jeren—piping up as if she were the captain and not I—saying, 'pardon my sayin' Captain, but perhaps over there might be better?' _

_And wouldn't you know it? The wench would be right, and I'd have to change my orders, and all of it in front of the men. Very embarrassing, Chieftain."_

Aragorn could only imagine, since Jeren had been the only female ranger accepted into the ranks. And this last injury of hers made him think she might have seen the end of her career.

"How is it?" he asked her, as he gently fingered the sleeve of her right arm.

"Better," she said and didn't elaborate.

"I would like a little more information than that, please," he said with slight impatience. "Should I hold your place in Joem's patrol, or give it to a new recruit?"

She darted a glance at his face, unsure as to how he meant his comment. Was he being serious, or was he jesting with her? She truly could not tell.

"I would like my place reserved," she finally answered, "but I would have to pass the tests again, would I not? And it is going to take awhile before I achieve that much movement in my arm."

"Take _awhile_?" he asked her, his brows arched with the question, as if he already knew the answer to it.

He could see her face fall as she replied to him.

"Lord Glorfindel has told me that my grip will never be strong enough to wield a sword with my right hand again. I hope to compensate by switching to my left, and I also hope that the stiffness at the elbow will abate somewhat. It doesn't bend much as it is."

"Sounds as if you have much hope—but little confidence. What has Elrond said?"

"He refuses to say that I will progress no further, but I am afraid he just does not want to dash my hopes." She looked at him directly when she said, "But I have improved steadily, so who's to say that he is not right, and I will continue to get better and better?"

He took her right hand into his and inspected her fingers. "Glorfindel is right about your grip. _If_ you successfully switched to your left, and _if_ your elbow improved so that you could use two hands on your sword, as we both know you must…" He stopped and looked at her as if to say, 'The 'ifs' are too many—we both know you will not achieve what it takes to become a ranger again.'

"Which is why I've been reading this book," Jeren said.

He looked at her questioningly again.

"I've been wanting to ask you just what it takes to get a promotion in the Dúnedain rangers. Besides being able to wield a sword or bow."

"The requirement in the past was ten years service as a ranger and as many commendations. However, as you know, our strength in numbers is declining year by year, so now the requirement is five years service and five commendations."

"So even if I were able to return to duty, I would still need at least two more years of service." She thought about that for a moment, and then glanced at him, only to be confused by the look on his face. His expression was doubtful, to say the least. She could feel her anger rising.

"Are you meaning that no matter if I had twenty years service and twenty commendations, I would _never _be recommended as an officer? And why is that _Lord Aragorn_?" Her scathing tone even shocked her.

"Jeren…" he began, with a note in his voice that should have been a warning to her; but she did not heed it and would not allow him to finish.

"It's because I am a woman, isn't it, _sir_?"

"Before you continue in that vein, I would hope you would remember to whom you speak."

Aragorn's voice had taken on a sternness he had very seldom used toward her, even when she might deserve it. But it had the desired effect. It deflated her anger somewhat. When he could see her relax, he answered her.

"Yes, it is because you are a woman. You remember the opposition you had when you simply wanted to become a ranger. Imagine the uproar if you wanted to take a place that many men would consider rightly theirs and not yours."

"Yes, I know," she said sullenly. "Rhyse said as much to me, and he was supposed to love me."

Aragorn chuckled somewhat, releasing even more of the tension that had grown between them. "You know how I feel—I think you are a fine warrior and if you were up to the task, I would have no qualms about you becoming an officer, except for the very basic fact that the men would not follow you. Even if our system was not one of majority rule, there would be rebellion in the ranks if you were appointed a captain."

"Thank you for your honesty, Lord Aragorn," she said quietly. "I am sorry for the brash way I spoke to you earlier. I am irritated by unfairness, and this reeks of unfairness to me."

"Speak to Glorfindel about entering the Imladris force," he said sensibly. "He has invited you to join them on occasion—I seem to recall one time in particular that he went against my wishes and allowed you to fight with his warriors." She looked up at him then and saw the playful smile stealing across his lips. "And they do not have prejudice against females fighting with them."

"There are no Ellith in the Imladris force!" she retorted. "They really did not want me there with them, either, when Lord Elrond asked Glorfindel to train me."

"Did you ever stop to think that they were more prejudiced against your Humanity than the fact that you were female?" he asked her. Her sheepish grin gave him his answer. "No, there aren't any Ellith now, but that isn't because there are rules against them being there. If they can fight, they can join and advance in the ranks as the Ellyn do. There have been Ellith in the Elvish defenses in the past, though they have been few and far between. Most of them do not want to fight so there is no controversy. But there wouldn't be anyway, if one should decide to take up a weapon."

"Would that Humans could be so sensible!"

Aragorn chuckled at her pragmatic approach to life.

"I have not completely given up on the Dúnedain rangers, Lord Aragorn. I worked very hard to first, earn the privilege, and second, to be accepted by the men, so I am striving toward getting my place back with them. But I find my thoughts are no longer so focused on killing Orcs; they are mostly taken up with learning the strategy of war. I wish you had written _ten_ books on the battles you've fought."

He laughed again as he got up from the bench and fetched his crutches. "I will keep that in mind as I languish with this ankle of mine. If you have nothing pressing, come by my room later, and I will tell you some stories of the battles I've been involved in. Perhaps you could learn something more. For now, I best get myself back to a reclining position, lest the Lord of Imladris come calling me on it."

Jeren told him goodbye and set back to reading. Even if her chances at becoming an officer were not very good, she still found the topic fascinating. She settled herself for another hour of reading.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren spent the next two days with Aragorn, listening to him tell her tales of all his adventures and the battles that he'd been in. He told her of his friendship with Legolas of Mirkwood, and some of the narrow escapes they had endured together. And when you added Elladan and Elrohir into that mix, the result was always interesting to say the least. No wonder Lord Elrond had been so against him joining his sons on the hunt!

She could scarcely believe the life he'd led—that he was still leading. How she wished her arm was well and she could fight alongside him. But he'd told her himself that her chances of becoming a captain were non-existent in the Dúnedain rangers, and that would be the only way she would be let into his circle.

It was late in the afternoon the third day after the hunters had left that Jeren found herself sitting on the back steps of the Last Homely House. She really hadn't intended to be here, waiting for them to return. She didn't even have a clear idea that they would return today, but here she was sitting, her ears straining for the sounds of horses coming in.

She smiled to herself. She'd been wanting to be with Elrohir before he'd even left on the hunt, even though she knew she would be much better served by keeping some distance between them. She kept thinking about Rhyse's comment, wondering if she'd become sluttish. It was something she'd questioned about herself, from time to time. When Aragorn caught her with Rhyse on the riverbank a few years ago, she had a feeling that was exactly what he had been thinking. He had all but voiced the unspoken message—that she was behaving very badly. So it made her wonder, was she wanton—only mere steps from being whorish?

It wasn't as if she'd been with several men in the past, it was more that she didn't feel the constraints of society when it came to making love to the ones she had been intimate with. She'd not needed marriage, since getting with child would be difficult for her, so that hadn't been a consideration. At least she thought that was it. Mayhap Rhyse had a point and she was too easy. He'd not had to work that hard to get into her bed, and she'd thrown herself at Elladan, barely even giving him a choice in the matter.

Was there something wrong with her approach to men and lovemaking?

More than once she wished her mother was still with her, so that she could advise her. But when she thought of her mother this time, Jeren wondered if she would have approved of her daughter's actions when it came to males. As far as Jeren knew, her father was her mother's only lover, and she was all but sure they'd been married before they commenced making love with each other. She felt a small pang of conscience, but decided it was something to worry about at another time.

She was reserved with men when she was in public and that was what was most important. She wanted to be taken seriously by them, and what besotted, fawning female ever truly had the respect of men, except when they wanted a decoration for their arm or mayhap for the warming of their bed? When Elrohir did return, she would greet him and walk with him, but that would be all, at least until they were in a more private place. She would not want either of them to be the butt of gossip or jests from anyone. Having this thought almost caused her to get up and leave, lest she give rise to some gossip by her mere presence here. But why should they hide their feelings? Even Lord Elrond now knew they were interested in each other. And it wasn't as if she'd never taken up this very position on the back steps when the twins had gone hunting without her, only in the past it was Elladan for whom she'd been waiting. This time is was Elrohir…

The sun had slipped beneath the crest of the mountains when she'd decided to get up and go inside. But she heard the distinct sound of horses' hooves on the cobbled surface of the path leading to this paddock in the back of the house, near the stables. The entire surface out here had been paved long ago, the Elves knowing the wisdom of not tracking muck and mud inside. It was probably an improvement insisted upon by Celebrian, the Lady of the house.

It wasn't long before the riders came into view, all three Elves, each with a horse walking beside him laden with what Jeren knew were stores of meat wrapped in the skins the animals had inhabited when they lived. There was one skin draped over Glorfindel's pack horse that was obviously not a usual game animal. Elves from the stable were already there, ready to lead the horses back to the barn and take care of the meat that had been brought in.

As soon as the Elves were stopped and dismounted, Jeren found herself beside Glorfindel's pack horse, being drawn to the skin draped across the bundles on the horse's back, for she hadn't seen its like before. She ran her hand over the silky smoothness of the hide, trying to discern to what sort of animal it had belonged.

"Mountain cat," Glorfindel said in answer to her unasked question.

"It is too bad that you found the need to kill it," she said, but only with regret, not with any sort of censure for the ancient Elf lord.

"But it was a good thing he did," Elladan said, "or I would not be standing here with you now." He bent and laid a kiss on her cheek.

Jeren glanced up, looking for the one she sought. Her eyes met Elrohir's over Asfaloth's back and she smiled, and his smile was warm in return. She went around Glorfindel's horses to stand beside Elrohir, as he untied his pack and weapons from his own horse. He handed her his bow and she took it without question, and they started up the walk to the back door.

Elladan looked at Glorfindel, confusion rampant on his face. Glorfindel lifted one corner of his mouth in a wry smile and shook his head. "He is a fool," was all he said, and they, too, followed Jeren and Elrohir into the house.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren and Elrohir had gotten as far as Jeren's door when Elrohir stopped and took his bow from her. "I am going to bathe, and when I am finished I will come back here." He looked at her teasingly. "I am allowed, am I not? Is Rhyse still here?"

"Rhyse and the other rangers left the same day that you did. Only Aragorn remains. So yes, you are allowed to come to my room when you finish." She smiled as she asked him, "Shall I fetch a bottle of wine for the two of us?"

"I think not. We are sure to have wine with our evening meal, and I would hate for you to find yourself inebriated before we even sat down at the table."

Jeren took a swipe at him, which he dodged, and he laughed as he continued to his own room.

Jeren decided to follow Elrohir's example and went into her bathing room to take a bath. For as long as she'd lived here, you would think she would have grown accustomed to the fact that there was hot and cold running water in the pipes at one's beck and call. She'd asked how it worked and she'd been told, but still the process boggled her mind. They'd explained to her that it was a series of boilers and pumps, not magic, but to her it might as well have been. She didn't much care how there came to be hot water for a bath that she didn't have to haul for herself, she only cared that it was there at her will. Nowhere on earth did she imagine there were such luxuries as she found here in Lord Elrond's home.

She emerged from her bathing room an hour later, clothed in her robe. She lit the lamps and candles in her room, and then took her brush and comb out onto the veranda to sit while she worked the tangles out of her hair. The sun was quickly falling and the valley was bathed in ginger light.

She sat for almost an hour, brushing her hair dry. The sun had truly set by now and the lamps on the main walkways down below were being lit. There came a quiet knock on her door and she called out for whomever it was to enter. She expected Elrohir, but not this soon.

He came in, quietly closing the door behind him. She smiled at him, but he stayed where he was, his back leaning heavily against her closed door. She got up and walked to her wardrobe, intending to find some clothes to get dressed in for the evening meal.

Elrohir approached her slowly, and when he reached her, he placed his hand on her shoulder, saying, "I've missed you and I want to greet you properly." She turned toward him and his arms went around her. She laid her face against the fine lawn of his shirt. She could hear his heart beating beneath her ear, and as she listened its pulse increased.

She pulled back just enough so that she could see his face, and he kissed her, a long lingering kiss that both of them welcomed. He kissed her deeply, and when they finally parted, she gasped when he nipped at her bottom lip. He left a hot trail of kisses from the corner of her mouth, down the side of her throat and back up to her lips. She'd been unconsciously retreating from him, knowing the wisdom of keeping a stern control on her emotions, and suddenly her legs were bumping against the bed. Elrohir eased her down onto the mattress and he followed her path, lying lightly atop her.

He kissed her throat and she arched her back, pressing her body into his. His hands parted her robe, caressing her shoulders, and then made their way up to cradle the back of her head. She ached with her need of him—by this point, all sensible thought had escaped her, and she could not imagine why he was not touching her the way she needed him to. She busied herself undoing the buttons of his shirt, and when she had accomplished the task, she peeled the fabric away from his shoulders, down his upper arms. Resting on his elbows, he pulled back a little, stopping to look into her eyes. She pulled his face down to hers again, kissing him with a wild passion she did not know she possessed. She worked her hands down to the laces of his leggings, loosening them, and then hooked her fingers over the waistband, trying to pull them away from his hips.

He leaned back from her slightly and in desperation, grasped one of her wrists and held it. In a ragged voice he whispered, "Jeren, stop…please stop…"

She chuckled seductively and in a like voice said softly, "I might have imagined many things you would say to me at a time like this, but 'stop' wasn't one of them."

"I am sorry for that," he said quietly, "I did not mean to lead you this far; please forgive me. But it must be this way."

She felt as if a cold bucket of water had been splashed on her, jolting her out of her romantic mood. She sat up a little, looking into his face. "What do you mean, Elrohir?"

He regained his feet, adjusting his clothing. His breathing came in ragged gasps, so she knew he was wanting this as badly as she. So why was he denying them? Why was he putting a stop to what would most assuredly be a beautiful thing?

As he buttoned his shirt he told her, "I mean we cannot do this—not now—not yet."

"What are we waiting for, then; would you tell me that?" She didn't sound angry, just confused.

"This might be something you are used to doing, Jeren, but I am not. And when I do this with you for the first time, it will be special; a very special night."

She got up from the bed, incredulity on her face. "Elrohir," she said, skepticism warring with downright disbelief, "are you saying you have never done this before?"

Her robe gaped widely, revealing much of her breasts, and he tore his gaze away from her body to look her directly in the eyes. With no shame or self-recrimination in his expression at all he said, "Yes, that's what I am saying."

"But Elladan…" she said, still confused, and amazed she was having this conversation at all with a thousands-year-old Elf.

"Elladan and I might be twins and brothers," he said, "but we are two very different people. He has gone his way in this for a very long time, but I have not followed. I hold to Elvish tradition. I have no intention of making love with you until our bonding."

"Bonding?" Jeren said, afraid she knew exactly what he meant. "You mean—our wedding?"

He nodded his head. "Yes, something like that." He would eventually tell her that in Elvish tradition, to make love was to bond—to wed; but not right now. He would choose the right moment to tell her that when they made love for the first time, they'd be bonded forever.

She walked away from him, pulling her robe back snugly around her body. Turning around, she said, "I have no intention of bonding with you, Elrohir—at least not right now. I still have to determine whether I want to marry you at all. Just last week I was still betrothed to Rhyse. This is all happening much too quickly."

Elrohir hated seeing her so confused and distressed. He went to her, refusing to let her put such distance between them. "I did not think you would be ready to bond yet. I expected for us to take some time, hashing out a few things, before we bonded. And I have not even asked you properly yet. This is not at all how I expected this moment to go." He smiled at her, and her heart melted. She put her arms around him, drawing him close. After a few seconds, she leaned back, so that she could look into his eyes.

"But Elrohir, I'm not sure I can be so near to you like this without—you know…"

His eyes dipped to the vee where her robe closed just above the cleavage of her breasts, and then they rose back up to her face. "It is difficult, is it not? But I think we will both benefit if we take more time."

"I did not expect to have to wait, Elrohir. Are you very sure you will not make an exception—break with tradition—for me?"

"I would not even consider it for anyone else," he replied, "but no, I have waited this long. Imagine the monumental failure I would feel, were I to give in now." The impish smile he gave her then made her laugh and she hugged him closer.

"I suppose I should get dressed, then," she said wistfully. "It is almost time to go down for evening meal. But you should know something, Elrohir—I have every intention of drinking quite a bit of that wine that will be served with the meal, to drown my sorrow. And since I have no intention of bonding with you yet, you had best steer clear of me afterward—I will be hard pressed not to try and steal your virtue."

He chuckled quietly as he drew her to him again, but after only a few moments, Jeren pulled away and gathered her clothes to dress for the dining hall.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The next two weeks fairly flew by, as Jeren threw herself into her training with Glorfindel. He worked her almost every day until her arm ached like fire, and by the end of the second week she could braid her own hair. Her arm finally would bend at the elbow, allowing her to not make a total mess of her braid when she did attempt plaiting it on her own.

But the quest to get her arm to bend had not been an easy one. Four days ago Glorfindel had added a drill, which required her to bend her elbow, and he was greatly dissatisfied with her inflexibility. It would only bend so far and stop. So he inspected her arm closely, trying to see just what seemed to be obstructing the joint. He'd prodded the muscles and bent her arm in any way it could bend. Finally his brows went up as he hit a spot that made Jeren jerk her arm out of his grasp. There was a large knot in the muscle, just above the crook of her elbow. He looked at her determinedly and told her to steady herself, because what he was about to do was going to hurt. He told her to relax, and she tried to, but after his two attempts of deeply massaging that muscle, she was ready to faint with the pain. Yet the knot had not loosened.

He had taken her to Lord Elrond's study, and the two Elf lords went into deep discussion in Elvish. Jeren knew from long experience that that was _never_ a good sign. The three of them then went to the healing halls. Lord Elrond instructed her to lie on a bed, and in the meantime, Glorfindel continued his explanations to Elrond in Elvish, gesturing at her arm as he did it. She had done as commanded, had lain down on the bed, but as soon as Glorfindel placed his hands on her limb, she sat up again.

"Now wait," she said, pulling her arm back defensively and holding it with the other. "Tell me what your plans are. I grow wary when healers speak in Elvish around me—from old experiences, you might say."

Elrond explained that as Glorfindel massaged the muscle, he would be trying to block some of her pain. She decided that that was fair enough, so she laid herself back down and Glorfindel got to work. Elrond had positioned himself at the head of the bed, and as Jeren looked up at him, she decided that if ever there was an unflattering view of an Elf, then this was probably the one.

As Glorfindel kneaded the tightened muscle, Jeren locked her jaw and wanted to scream out her agony, but would not permit any sound to escape. Lord Elrond had been watching her closely. She grew pale, especially around her lips, but when tears escaped her eyes, he placed one of his palms on her shoulder joint, where her arm met her body. She couldn't believe it when the pain dulled. It was still there, but bearable now.

Glorfindel kept up his torturous treatment for fifteen long minutes. Her arm had grown quite numb by the time he pronounced himself finished. Lord Elrond helped her back into a sitting position, and she swayed where she sat. She had a feeling that a deep healing sleep would be forthcoming in a very short while.

But before Lord Elrond put another tiresome poultice on her injured arm, Glorfindel had manipulated her limb, bending it in every way it was possible to bend. By the time that Glorfindel was finished with it, it had come alive again, with a sharp, tingling sensation that was quite painful. Much of the stiffness had gone—she could move her elbow freely again!

Braiding her hair was still slow-going; her arm would now bend, but it seemed as if the things she wanted it to do took much longer than she was used to them taking—as if the messages sent from her mind were not getting through clearly to her arm and hand. They were sluggish, and she wasn't sure if that would ever improve.

Of course she hadn't thought it would improve this much, either. And it had. She was so very relieved that things she had not been able to do, she now could almost always accomplish. She was becoming much more proficient with her left hand and arm. She almost exclusively wrote and ate with it, only now and then using her right hand in order to further its strength.

Elrohir had made himself scarce, much to Jeren's severe disappointment. She saw him at mealtimes, but that was all. She wondered if he'd had second thoughts about loving her, since she had been so brazen with him the last time they were alone together. And that's when she realized the answer to her question—she didn't think he'd changed his mind about her at all, it was probably that he wanted to avoid scenes like the one they'd been through the last time—in her bedchamber.

She was not sure what he was doing with his time, or with whom he was spending it. Elladan had gone back to the settlement as soon as he'd returned from the hunt, so Elrohir was not spending time with his twin. And she spent afternoons with Aragorn, listening to his stories and absorbing whatever he would teach her, so she knew that Elrohir did not spend his time with him either. She supposed he must be with his father, helping him in whatever capacity that he could.

She and Aragorn met most of the time at the armory, as soon as the noon meal was finished. Since she usually spent all morning with Glorfindel, Lord Elrond almost always insisted that he poultice her arm in order to keep it in prime condition for the next morning's lessons. So she would visit the healing halls with him, and then be able to sit quietly, for the most part, with Aragorn, as he taught her some of what he knew about battle strategy.

They would meet in Glorfindel's office, where they had at least one copy of most of the current maps to which to refer. That way he could illustrate the story he told with all the proper landmarks in their places—distances to scale—and she was soaking in all the information he could give her. She wanted to spend as much time with him as she could, because his departure was only ten days away, and she did not know when she would ever get another chance like this.

This afternoon she'd just finished with Aragorn in the armory and was heading back to the house. She'd left him with Glorfindel in the armory office, the two lords deep in discussion about the errand Aragorn would take up on behalf of Gandalf.

Jeren had seen the formidable wizard only a few times and had barely exchanged more than names with him then. He was tall and gray, the pointed hat that he wore making him seem taller still, but his voice, while crusty, held everlasting kindness in its depths. One time in particular that she remembered was when he'd been in the Hall of Fire, telling his tales, the likes of which she had never heard before—of fireworks and trolls and dragons. She remembered being completely amazed.

She wondered what task Aragorn was going to perform for the gray wizard, but she knew it was a well-kept secret. When Glorfindel had entered his office this afternoon, all it had taken was the clearing of his throat to get Aragorn's attention, and then neither lord had said another word. Both stared pointedly at her until she got their unspoken message—it was time for her to leave. So she had excused herself, but on her way out, she'd heard them mention Gandalf's name, so she'd not had to guess the subject of their conversation.

As she walked toward the house, Elrohir startled her when he came up from behind her and put his arm through hers. Her warrior's instincts had her bracing for a fight, until she saw his laughing and somewhat surprised face looking back at her.

"Well, fancy it being you!" she said, when she'd recovered. "It has been long since I've seen you other than in the dining hall."

He looked at her sheepishly for a moment, but said, "Yes, I know. I have been trying to keep away from you, as you have most likely figured out for yourself by now." He watched her face closely and saw exactly what he'd feared—she had been hurt by his comment, but was trying stoically not to show it. So he hurried to add, "But do not be offended—" He could see she was about to declare that she was not upset, and he refused to keep carrying on this pointless conversation, so he simply said, "Come. Let's go talk somewhere."

They found a secluded garden, one not generally frequented by anyone other than the Lord of Imladris' family. Except for one of them or a gardener, who saw to its upkeep, it was deserted most of the time. It had several sections to it, including a burial ground for those of or close to the Peredhel family. Jeren had been there, where her parents were buried, many times before, but never in this part of the garden. She looked all around her at the beautifully kept grounds.

Elrohir led her to a stone bench nestled amidst a dense stand of birch trees. Before she sat, Jeren fingered the peeling bark of one of them, the like of which she'd not seen before. The flaking pieces were almost white, leaving the yellowish wood beneath it showing. The effect was strangely beautiful.

She turned toward Elrohir, finding him closer than she'd thought at first. She shrank away, leaning back somewhat, and he frowned.

"I was afraid this would happen," he said. "I dampened your spirit, and now you are afraid to kiss me of your own accord."

Jeren blushed and looked away, not because he had guessed her reason for pulling back, but because she knew why she shied away from him. He'd not stifled her spirit, it was only that if she began kissing him, she would not want to stop at just that.

"I am sorry, Jeren. It isn't that I don't wish to see you. It is that I cannot trust myself around you anymore. I want you badly, and I have set the conditions upon which I now must hold, so I have tried not to be alone with you. But I find that isn't the answer. The answer is for us to bond—as quickly as possible."

He reached out with slender fingers on her chin, gently pulling her face back toward him so that he could look at her.

"I brought you here to ask you properly, will you bond with me Jeren?" His eyes continually searched her face, wanting to see every nuance of what she might be feeling. "I love you with my entire being. And you know that is not something I give lightly, because for me it means always, even after you are gone forever."

He saw her blanch at his last comment, so he hurried on, "I wish not to think of it either, but it is a fact—you will grow older and will eventually leave me in death."

"How can you knowingly do this to yourself then?" she asked, practically pleading with him. She knew it would be painful and difficult, but they could still just walk away from this.

"Elves are different from Humans, Jeren," he said patiently. "I cannot tell you the difference because, being Elven, I do not know your Human mind or heart, not deeply into the very core of you. But neither do you know mine, as an Elf. It is something inborn in us; something I cannot explain. We bond for a lifetime. But it is a fact that even an Elven mate may not live forever. Accident or mortal wound from battle can rend one from another, and then the Elf left alone either finds a way to cope or he fades. It is fact and there is nothing to change it. So whether you are Human or Elven makes no difference; things can still happen that could part us."

"Do not forget what you are asking of _me_, Elrohir," she said, realizing she was near tears. "It will be me who does all the aging. You will be bonded to a hag of a woman, and you will appear no older than you are now. How dreadful—for both of us."

"It isn't so bad," he said to her, as he pushed at her shoulder with his own. "I find older Women beautiful." At her quiet chuckle, he added, but in a very serious tone, so that she would know he meant every word, "They have the lines of wisdom etched on their faces. And there is nothing much more beautiful than that to me." He had to lift her face again, because she'd cast her eyes downward, watching her fingers pick at the hem of her tunic. "We will be among ones who love us, and they will see what I see—the Jeren they have always known—not 'a hag of a woman'." He gently nudged her with his elbow then.

Jeren smiled even as a tear slipped from one of her eyes. "I have always lived life as if every day was my one last day," Jeren replied. "Why would I stop now, even though it would be the wisest course?" She chuckled, trying to mask a sob.

Elrohir drew her into his arms. "Ai, it is so painful, is it not? Love—it is spectacular yet ordinary; exquisite, yet ugly at times. I think of my parents, how much they loved—" He'd had to stop to correct himself, "—love—one another. Sometimes it is hard even for me as an Elf to grasp that my mother is still living, but beyond my reach, until at such time that I might leave to Valinor. She was so very frail and despondent when she sailed…" His voice trailed off, and he sat looking at nothing for a moment, but then he seemed to mentally shake himself and said, "And that is something I have been thinking about, Jeren. If I can get Elladan to agree, I want us all to sail sometime in the future, before you become so very old that you can no longer function as you wish to. Perhaps Those who have such powers could grant you life in Valinor."

"Is that true—what you are telling me?" Jeren wanted to know, "or are you making it up?"

"Jeren…" he said, shaking his head as if scolding an errant youth. "I said perhaps… I do not know if such can be granted, but I have been studying on it for the past several days."

She had the grace to look contrite. "No, Elrohir, I know you would not tell me false. Not about something as important as this." She took a moment to make sure he was suitably appeased before she added, "I thought Valinor was strictly for Elves. I never knew anything such as this could even be thought about."

"As far as I know, none but Elves have ever been allowed in. I do know the Peredhel, before he has chosen, can be admitted. Such was the case with my grandfather—Eärendil."

"But not only am I not Peredhel, I have no Elvish blood, Elrohir…"

"That isn't true, Jeren. You are Dúnedain, and as such have ties to my own family, ancient though they are."

"So how would we know? How would we know if I would be allowed entry into Valinor before I sailed?"

"From what I have learned, as I've studied about it these last several days, the ship simply will be unable to leave the dock, should the person's passage be denied*****. As far as I know, there is no communication from Valinor. I plan on having a conversation about this very subject with my father, after we tell him of our bonding." He looked at her intently for a moment before he added, "That is, if you will agree to bond with me."

Jeren was somewhat relieved to hear of Elrohir's plans. He had certainly thought things through—even studied the problem. But the trouble was that everything was happening too fast. This was too important a decision to rush through. She loved Elrohir—very much. She knew she needed him in her life, just as she needed air to breathe. The past couple of weeks that feeling had grown stronger and stronger. And as soon as she and Rhyse had cut their romantic ties, the desire to have Elrohir near her only increased. But was that the sort of love they needed for a long-term affair such as marriage? Was she just experiencing intense physical attraction that would fade over time? She'd already been mistaken twice—with two different males. Was she right about her love of Elrohir, enough so that she could marry him and they would be happy forever?

"Jeren?" he prodded quietly. She looked at him, her large eyes grown even larger with her panic of needing to decide this so quickly. He smiled, realizing the burden he was putting on her. "No need for that, now," he said, as if he read her mind. "You can take all the time that you want or need. You will find no pressure from me—other than my conspicuous absence at times. I am sorry about this. I thought I could control myself without question, but I find that I do question it."

"Then just give in, Elrohir," she said, looking up into his eyes. "Love me without constraints or bonds. That is how I love you."

"Said by she who has trouble reining in her appetites for almost everything..." he said sensibly, as kindly as he could. "But is that Jeren talking, or her desire?"

Angry at first, Jeren looked away, so he added, his voice weary, "You have no notion as to how badly I want to 'just give in', Jeren. It would be the easiest thing, but is it the most worthwhile? We have to be very sure about this before we take such a step, because—"

He wondered if now was the time to tell her about Elven tradition, as far as bonding was concerned. He quickly decided that now was as good a time as any, so he finished, "—to make love _is_ to bond, Jeren." At her frown of confusion, he went on, "Yes, you heard me right. And I know your logical leap would be toward my brother and what he does and continues to do."

Elrohir's voice had changed when he began talking about Elladan. Jeren could see the pain in his eyes as clearly as she'd seen his love in them earlier. She imagined he was thinking about the fact that she had been with his twin, and how she must be wondering just how Elrohir could be resisting her in this way—in the way his brother had not. She reached out and touched his face.

"I did not mean to hurt you, Elrohir," she said quietly.

He smiled and said quickly, "You haven't, Jeren. It happened and nothing can change it. It is something I prefer to keep out of my thoughts, but it must be discussed, at least this once, and then I want it to be buried forever."

"Even sitting here next to you now, what I want more than anything is—to _be_ with you," she said, self-hatred making her voice harsh. "And I do not feel the need to bond with you in order for that happen. I must be whorish!"

The wince she saw pass over his face was barely perceptible, but Jeren saw it plainly before he'd hidden it away, and something like anger took its place.

"Never say anything like that again. You are _no_ such thing!"

"What other reason can I have for giving myself to not one, but two males without benefit of vows? And then, the last time you and I were together—" She stopped because she was more confused than anyone as to why she did the things she did.

He closed his eyes to collect himself, then opened them again, looking directly at her. "The last time we were together was _my_ fault, Jeren. Only mine." He stopped as if to take some time to consider his next words. "Your father was absent most of your life and when he was in it, you practically had to beg for his love. You might say you have been starved for male attention. And then, you were so young when you were attacked by Orcs, and that experience damaged you. I fully believe that, had you not been beset by them, you would have been more—discerning—with the giving of yourself to others. With Elladan and Rhyse—" he paused slightly before he went on, as if the reality of those names truly pained him, "—you had power over those situations with them that you did not have when the Orcs attacked you. Your behavior was almost a natural consequence, considering all that you'd been through.

Jeren could not agree nor disagree with Elrohir. She wanted to dispute what he'd said about her father. Anardil was a ranger—a gallant ranger; sturdy, dependable, loyal—to all those who needed him.

_Except for her—he'd been a virtual stranger in her life._

Elrohir was right about one thing, though; she had been damaged by what the Orcs had done to her. Had things been different, she very well might have reacted to men in a different way. But she would never know that, because things had been the way they had been.

"In all fairness to myself," she said, "I loved them both."

Elrohir looked ragged, as if he'd been put through a great ordeal. "I know that you did, Jeren. But have you put both Rhyse and Elladan in the past? That is all I need to know."

"I have, Elrohir," she said plainly; "have you?"

"I had, until we began this discussion," he said. "I can again."

They sat together for awhile, saying nothing, until Jeren heaved a big sigh. "I feel as if I've been on a penalty run for Lord Glorfindel. All the energy has drained right out of me."

"We have had a very intense discussion," was all Elrohir said. He took her hand into his, lacing his long fingers through hers and holding it in both of his own. "Why do we not agree to meet here again in one week, and you can tell me then if you've had enough time to decide?"

"All right," she said, relieved. "But if I decide before then, I will seek you out."

"Agreed." He kissed her lightly on the lips and then unexpectedly deepened the kiss. He reached for her, his hand hovering over her breast, but he suddenly tore away from her. "I am sorry, Jeren—"

She placed her fingertips on his lips. "No need for that, now," she said in echo of one of his earlier comments to her. "I will see you at the evening meal."

She got up from the bench and walked away. Elrohir sat there for a long time after she'd gone.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Two afternoons later found Jeren again in the armory with Aragorn. He was telling her of a battle he'd once fought for Ecthelion of Gondor, going into great detail as to the reasons he'd chosen a particular strategy.

"Here," he said, as he pointed to the place on the map, "is where we met our enemy…" His voice trailed off because when he'd glanced at Jeren to emphasize his point, she was looking out the window to their left. So he scowled and said, "Then their mothers spanked them all and put them to bed without their meal."

He looked at her again, and she finally turned her gaze toward him. "That was a wonderful idea, my lord."

He didn't say anything for a second or two, the grim set of his jaw letting her know he was annoyed with her. "You have not heard a word I've said, and if you aren't going to listen, what is the point of my even saying it?"

She closed her eyes and sighed. "I am sorry, my lord. I have something on my mind that steals my concentration from all other things."

"Would you care to speak about it? Sometimes just talking through a problem helps solve it."

"It is highly personal," she said, as her face reddened, "and concerns someone very close to you."

"Now you have to tell me about it," he said, with a small smile. "You cannot say something like that and leave me without explanation."

She looked at him, her gaze piercing him in a way that warned him he might not want to hear what she was fretting so much about, but he gave a small nod, so she began.

"It's about Elrohir."

"I haven't seen much of him lately," he said in comment. "And I suppose you are probably the cause of that. He brought you here to have Elrond try and save your arm, and he's not left Rivendell since. And before you were injured, he'd been quiet and surly for months. Did he ever let on to you what that was about?"

"It was about me. _All_ about me," she said, looking down at the map before her. With her left index finger, she traced a dark blue line that ran through Gondor, the River Anduin. Aragorn stilled her finger with his hand atop hers.

"What about you, Jeren?"

"He has proclaimed his love for me—he wants us to bond." Still Jeren kept her eyes on the map, not daring to look at Aragorn's face.

And that was just as well, because the ranger's shocked expression was plain for anyone to see. "I thought you and Rhyse—," he said, frowning.

"That has ended, my lord," she said quietly. "Rhyse cannot accept the fact that I may not ever be a ranger again. He cannot love me as I am, and while my arm will probably improve more, he has no guarantee of that." She glanced up to look at him again.

"I am sorry this injury has so affected your life. But now Elrohir wants to bond with you?" He shook his head as if to clear the confusion from it. "Is that not somewhat premature?"

"Elrohir and I have always been close," she replied. "And he began feeling this way toward me many months ago, so for him it has not happened all that quickly. As for me," she said, and she raised her brows, "You know how persuasive you brother can be…"

"Well, the question that still remains is, what do _you_ want?"

"I want—" she started, but stopped, as if words warred with each other to escape her lips. "I want _him_," she finally concluded. "But I am not sure about the bonding part."

"What about it bothers you?"

"The question should more be, 'what about it _doesn't_ bother me'?"

Aragorn's gaze turned hard, and then he said, "So you would have a dalliance with my brother, but you want to make no commitment?" Jeren could hear the barely disguised contempt Aragorn felt for such an idea.

She got up from her chair, tempted to leave Aragorn and all his criticism behind her, because she'd not only heard censure for the idea she had raised, but condemnation of her as well. She didn't know if it was real or just something conjured by her guilty conscience, so instead of leaving, she turned back to him. "It is a lifetime commitment, Lord Aragorn! And it isn't _my_ lifetime I'm worried about!"

Aragorn got up then and took her by the shoulders. "I understand more about this very problem than you know. I just had to make sure you were giving the situation the grave consideration it deserves." He pulled her chair out further, inviting her to sit again, and then he sat on the corner of the table. After she was settled, he asked, "Does Elrond know?"

"He knows we've got romantic interest in one another, but he doesn't know how far it has gone."

"And how far has it gone?"

She looked at him with contempt this time, but as she stared into his worldly grey eyes her anger faded a little, but not so much that her resentment did not come through in her tone.

"Elrohir is not his twin, Lord Aragorn! He has asked me to bond with him and has explained to me Elven tradition—that to—" Jeren tore her gaze from his, embarrassment taking over where her anger faded, "—make love—is to bond forever." Having said the hard words she had stumbled over, she looked at him again. "So it has not gone as far as you might have thought."

"I am sorry if you felt slighted, but what I might advise needs a base on which to rest. If I do not know the circumstances, how can I counsel you?"

Jeren nodded, but then said, "What I do not understand is how Elladan has not bonded, since he's—been with—females before." Jeren was sure her face was reddening even as she spoke, but hoped beyond hope that Aragorn did not notice, and then put the pieces of this puzzle together for himself.

"As a green youth I asked him just that question. I had all the Elves that I had dared to ask telling me I had to wait until marriage for such a final step, but had observed Elladan in, shall we say, at least one compromising position. So one day I asked him bluntly how he was not bonded, yet he—dallied—with the Ellith he could convince to be with him. And I wanted to know why I could not do the same.

"He told me that he'd held his heart away from the ones he'd made love with; that true bonding comes only with opening your entire soul to your partner. It was just a game to him and not serious at all, yet after one embraced it into his life, it was hard to do without it. But as time went on, he could feel that he'd been giving pieces of his heart to each of the different Ellith he had been with, and he didn't know if he would have enough of it left to ever truly bond with another. He did not want me to make that same mistake. He told me that he was sorry for being such a terrible example to me.

"I did not take his words lightly, Jeren. I have tried to live my life in a humble way. But I am Human, and I have made mistakes. I am sorry for being so personal with you, but I feel as if I have failed you in a way. I knew what you and Rhyse had been up to, yet I turned a blind eye to it. I should have had the fortitude to tell you exactly what Elladan had told me."

"Do not feel a failure, my lord. I had a father who could have advised me long before I met Rhyse, but he chose not to. You have no such responsibility to me."

"So what are you going to tell Elrohir?" he asked her then. "Will you bond with him?"

Jeren wanted badly to discuss Elves and bonding and their long lifetimes with Aragorn, but she was not supposed to know he was all but betrothed to Arwen, and she would not betray Elrohir, not even for her own education. She hoped that eventually Aragorn would find the need to reveal this himself, because otherwise, she was truly on her own with this decision. All she could do was try and steer the conversation around to the topics she knew he could discuss, if only he would. If he meant what he'd just said about feeling guilt over not educating her himself about the more in depth facts of life, perhaps it would be possible to get him to talk without revealing she already knew about his love of the Elven maiden.

"That's what I have to decide," she said. "I love him—I always have. But lately, since he's made his romantic love for me known, I find I am very much attracted to him. So I do not know if that is what is pulling my heart toward him, or if I do indeed have the profound love we will need for a marriage to work.

"When I first met Elrohir, I can tell you it was not love I felt for him at all. No, it was closer to hate. Strong dislike, at least. But over time, he has always been there when I needed him, like a rock to hold onto in a storm. I love him for that—I need him, Lord Aragorn. It's as if I need him as much as I need water in order to live. Or air. But is that just a dependence on him, or do I love him as deeply as I will need to for marriage?"

Aragorn smiled, a true, heart-felt smile. "It sounds as if you do love him very much." He looked at her for a minute, as if sizing her up, and then said, "You are right to question yourself in this way, but do not go haring off in several directions. You do not strike me as a woman who has dependence on anyone, Jeren. I think you can put that notion to rest. As to whether it is just attraction, the fact that you say you need him as much as you need the basics of life tells me that it is the right kind of love it would take to bond with him, if that is what you choose to do."

Jeren bolstered herself for her next question, because he would either answer her fully, telling her of his own love of an Elf—or not. "What would you do, Lord Aragorn?"

He raised his brows, as if contemplating the question, his eyes taking on a faraway gaze. "What would I do?" he asked, his voice almost dreamlike. He seemed to ponder the question for several minutes, for so long that Jeren was almost afraid he wouldn't answer at all. "I think it is more, 'what _did_ I do' than 'what _would_ I do'," he said, looking squarely into her eyes then.

Jeren knit her brow, trying to look as if she were confused, yet she knew exactly what he was talking about. "My lord?" she asked, as if in question.

"I have told no one except those most close to me of this, so I would appreciate it going no farther. Do I have your word?"

Jeren nodded, not trusting herself to speak lest she somehow accidently let it slip that she already knew some of what he might tell her. It seemed as if Aragorn was going to relate to her exactly what she needed to know. But his expression turned harder, and she suddenly realized she was going to have to voice her acceptance of the conditions he was setting.

"You have my word."

"You know of Elrond's daughter, Arwen?" At Jeren's nod, he went on. "I met her some years ago in Lothlorien. Although I was raised as a son of Elrond, she had not been here in Rivendell at all during the years of my youth, so I knew of her, but I had never seen her. She is beautiful beyond all telling and I fell in love with her instantly. As we grew to know one another, however, I realized that I did not want to live without her in my life, just as you have stated about Elrohir. So I had exactly the dilemma facing me as you have now. Was I just smitten, wanting a taste of the forbidden fruit, or was I deeply in love, the sort of love it would take to make a marriage last a lifetime?

"She and I talked much on the subject. I told her my heart right away, and she told me that she was in love with me, too." He cast a sideways glance at her. "Do not laugh—I found it very hard to believe, myself. Here I am a lowly, unshaved ranger, and she is the loveliest of Ilúvatar's creations." His voice died away as his expression turned inward, as if he did indeed have a mental image of her carved in his heart.

"However, eventually when we spoke of marriage—bonding—I came to realize there was much more at stake than my need for a beautiful woman in my bed. Much more. And the gravity of what I was doing—what I was asking her to do—sent me to my knees."

He stopped to ask, "Do you know of the choice Elrond's children face?" Jeren nodded, so he went on.

"Arwen had a choice to make and when she made it, I wanted to weep. She chose Humanity. I begged her not to do it, but she said it was what she wanted—to live with me a full and equal life, sharing in sickness and health, until our deaths. I could not dissuade her. And as time has passed, and obstacles have been put in our path, I have realized that my love of her surpasses everything else. I, as you have just said about Elrohir, need her as much as I need water or air. I will do what it takes to win her, even if it kills me.

"To say this decision of yours is weighty is a gross understatement. But the children of Elrond are no longer children, young as they may look." Jeren could see his jaw tighten slightly, and the next words he said came through almost clenched teeth. "They are adults thousands of times over, and can make responsible decisions on their own. If they choose to live a shortened life, then so be it. I have not walked in their shoes—I do not know how it must be, to live on and on with no end ever in sight. I would think it could get tiresome beyond belief at times. But it is their choice; one we cannot think to shoulder for them or take responsibility for, no matter what Elrond might try to tell us. And neither is staying Elfkind something their father has a right to force on them."

Jeren could see that he'd given this all a lot of thought, and that he was angry with his foster father in this regard. She could tell that he and Arwen had spoken at great length about this; it seemed as if some of the strong emotion was probably hers as well. Jeren felt empathy for both Aragorn and Lord Elrond. She felt compassion for Aragorn, and perhaps herself, in loving an Elf and wanting nothing to harm them or shorten their lives—and also for Elrond, a father who did not want to lose his children.

She'd thought Aragorn was finished talking, but he took up his speech again after a few moments.

"Yet, you may decide not to marry anyone, and I for one have thought that might be your choice eventually, even when you were with Rhyse. You are a very independent thinker, with your own strong opinions, and I think you would do yourself well to listen to your heart and then do as it tells you."

"You are right, Lord Aragorn," she replied, almost sadly. "I truly have no wish to marry anyone at present, and Elrohir wants us to bond _now_. If only he were more like his brother in his ridiculous stance about—" She stopped when she noticed Aragorn's brows rising, and his sideways look at her. "My life is so uncertain—I want to get my arm back in order, enough so that I can be relied upon in battle. I haven't even picked up a bow, to see if it could ever become a weapon I might use again. Everything is in chaos…"

"It sounds as if you have made one decision already—to wait for awhile, before taking any permanent steps toward bonding with Elrohir. Above all, take time, Jeren. Consider well. As you know, this can be a life and death decision."

"Elrohir will not like it," she said, shaking her head.

"Knowing you, I don't think you'll let that bother you over much," he said, smiling.

"The problem is that _I_ don't want to wait to be with _him_—"

"Such a dilemma," he said, with mock seriousness on his face. "You will have your hands full for a while yet, pleasing Glorfindel in weapons training, and you have me here teaching you for the next several days. Just try not to be alone with him, and you will have your problem half solved."

"Half solved?" she asked, her tone skeptical.

"Out of sight, out of mind, Jeren," he said. "It works wonders until you are alone in the dead of night and cannot sleep. Then you will truly suffer."

They looked at each other for a moment, and then in unspoken agreement, turned their attention back to the map on the table.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

*The part about the ship refusing to leave the dock to carry a Human to Valinor was completely made up by me. I often wondered how Elrond and Gandalf and Galadriel knew that Bilbo and Frodo would be admitted into Valinor. I know they were ring bearers, but the other ring bearers were Elven. Well, Gandalf wasn't, but he wasn't mortal, either, since he was Maia. Anyway, it is an entertaining thought...


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren had thrown herself into training with Glorfindel, working doggedly, and recognizing that the sooner she could get her arm better, the sooner she would know whether she would ever get back to being a ranger again. Even though Aragorn had told her there was no possible way she'd ever be accepted as an officer, she could not let that stop her from trying. After all, he'd told her the same thing about being a ranger!

She'd even begun returning to the exercise room after her sessions with Aragorn, to get in some more practice time. When Glorfindel realized she'd come back in the afternoon to work even more, after having trained all morning, he'd returned as well, putting her through even more drills. She could feel her arm's progression, although it stayed sore, even with Lord Elrond's treatments every day. And she'd not had any time to think about anything, much less make the important decision she had on her mind—except during the time she was supposed to be sleeping.

After five nights of tossing and turning, here she lay again, six days since her talk with Aragorn, and she was no closer to a decision than she had been before. Her thoughts roiled around in her mind. She suddenly sat up, throwing the covers off, and taking herself out onto her veranda. It was balmy late-summer by now, so she was completely comfortable being outside in her nightdress. The sky was wondrous to behold; the stars were winking merrily overhead, and it brought to her mind that perhaps the only place in Middle-earth tonight that was stormy and unsettled might be in her own heart.

With her elbows on the tabletop, she closed her eyes and rested her head in her hands, her fingers pushing through her hair like combs with only a few fat teeth. She sat there, wishing her mind would be quiet, just long enough for her to fall asleep. She would be sparring with Glorfindel in the morning, and she needed some rest to be at her prime. But she knew in a definite way that she was in for a beating tomorrow whether she slept tonight or not.

She finally sat back in her chair, taking a huge lungful of the soft summer air. She let it out with a sigh. She was no closer to determining what she should do than she'd been a week ago, after she'd last been alone with Elrohir. So she decided to make a mental list.

What was the problem? Well, that part was easy—should she marry Elrohir? Which always brought the same answer—she did not want to marry anyone right now. She exhaled loudly, fed up with this never-ending circle she seemed to be in.

Then she really studied what she'd just answered herself—_she didn't want to marry anyone right now_. All right, if she didn't want to marry right now, _then_ what was the problem? Elrohir was sure to be angry—at least disappointed—when she told him her answer. And she would be lying if she said she was pleased with this determination herself. No, she wanted to be with Elrohir—but could not, not until they were bonded, if he had his way about things.

Well, what if she had her way?

It suddenly occurred to her that she was taking others' feelings into account, this time meaning Elrohir, much more than her own. She fleetingly wondered when she'd begun doing this. She'd always thought of others, but had seldom put anyone else before her own self-interest. Not even Rhyse. She had stubbornly held on to her own opinions and beliefs as long as she'd been with him. Why was she treating Elrohir differently?

She did not have a clue as to why this was, and now was not the time to cipher through it. She had other more pressing things to decide.

She added a few more things to her list: she wanted to get her arm into shape; she wanted to be back to fighting strength, so that she could either go to the settlement to take over her position with the rangers again, or somehow be included in the planning of battle strategies.

She would know more after tomorrow whether her dream of fighting with the rangers again might be possible. She knew she would need much more work and practice, but she hoped to at least have a feel as to whether she would be able to wield her sword with her left hand at all, _after_ she'd sparred with the Arms Master.

As far as her yearning to be with Elrohir, she was just going to do as Elrohir had told her himself: practice on learning better self-discipline. Lord Aragorn was right—she had plenty of things that needed doing, so there was no reason to sit and fret over not having Elrohir in her bed. If she worked hard enough, she would be too tired to even think about such things, much less yearn for them.

She couldn't believe she'd spent over a week to get to this conclusion, when Lord Aragorn had practically served her this answer on a silver platter! She shook her head and laughed quietly to herself as she got up from her chair and went back to bed.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The next morning Jeren got up fairly refreshed, considering her late night. Even though it had taken some time to get to sleep, her determination had won out in the end and the night had ultimately been a restful one.

After she'd had her morning meal, she went to the armory, inside the main exercise room, where she was to meet with the Arms Master. She was wearing a padded vest for her sparring bout with Glorfindel today, which was part of the regular uniform for novices when they were learning the sword. She'd not had to use one of these for a very long time, but thought she'd better prepare herself today. She didn't know if her reflexes would be sharp or quick enough to escape the bruises he would deal to her ribs when her defenses were down.

She took a few minutes to wallow in worry about the coming bout with Glorfindel. He was going to beat her soundly, she knew without doubt, and she would have bruises and bumps in abundance when he was finished with her. She'd had to spar with him only once before—in order that he be convinced she was finished with training here in Rivendell. He made the final determinations as to whether a novice would be a fledgling warrior in the Imladris force, and put each one through the tests needed to advance into the ranks. He didn't always pass a novice into the force—if he deemed them unready, back they went to the basics. She had always thanked the Valar that she had mastered his rigorous tests the first time.

Up until now, she'd been doing drills, with Glorfindel instructing as she went through all the many steps. But this morning she was to put all the exercises together, and using her left hand, try and fend the Arms Master off. She knew he would give no quarter. It would be a trial by fire—she would either break free of the flames or burn.

She had herself tied in knots with the tension. In her past training, she had only sparred against either the senior students or one of the trainers. She was making it seem as if everything hinged on this one drill, but she knew in her heart that it did not. She so badly wanted to do well, but she knew that she could not do her best with her muscles taut to near snapping even before Glorfindel stepped into the room.

She consciously tried to relax by concentrating on something else. She thought about her missed meeting with Elrohir yesterday. She was supposed to find him in the very same garden they'd met in the last time she'd been alone with him. But at the time she still hadn't decided whether to give in and bond with him or not, and she knew seeing him would only depress her. So she hadn't gone at all. She wanted to be with him, and each time they were alone, and they parted with their needs still unmet, it left her feeling emptier than ever.

She'd noticed the strange stare Elrohir had given her at their evening meal last night, but she did not stay afterwards to explain herself. She was sure he must be either angry or hurt that she'd not gone to the garden to give him her answer. And she hadn't wanted to be alone with him at all right last night, so she'd counted her blessings when Lord Elrond had pulled Elrohir aside after the evening meal to ask him a question. She'd taken the reprieve and dashed to her room, hoping that Elrohir would not seek her later. And he hadn't. So instead of berating herself for missing their appointed meeting, she was more giving herself accolades for having made it another week without agreeing to do something she didn't want to do at the moment—bond with anyone, not even her beloved Elrohir.

She closed her eyes and stretched her neck, trying to ease the tension there. She dangled her arms loosely, and with mental focus, felt the muscles relax in succession: first her shoulders, then her upper arms, then the lower, and finally her hands and fingers. With all her attention on tranquility, she could sense the numbness centered on the outside of her right arm, the deadness of her last two fingers on that hand making it feel as if they weren't even there.

She was startled when Glorfindel strode purposefully into the room. He pulled one of the longer and heavier wooden training swords from the rack against the wall and approached her. She'd gotten hers earlier and had already been through the exercises designed to warm the muscles for sparring. Her right arm had progressed so much that she could now use both arms when she wielded the sword.

He didn't miss the padded vest and he frowned. "Are you truly ready for this, Girl?" he asked her. This had been Jeren's idea, and now she wasn't so sure if she was ready or not.

But she bolstered her courage and nodded. "Yes, Arms Master." She set her stance, preparing for Glorfindel's onslaught.

And it came swift and hard, Jeren on the defensive from the beginning. The bout lasted perhaps half a minute, and ended with Jeren on the floor with Glorfindel's sword point resting on her chest, right where her heart was.

"So you were not ready," he said directly.

She was breathing hard, and in between gasps she stood. As soon as she'd caught her breath enough to reply, she said, "Could we try again, Arms Master?"

"No," Glorfindel said immediately. "You are not yet improved enough for sparring."

Jeren wanted to weep with disappointment, but she did not. Instead, she answered, "It appears that I am not ready to fight, my lord; but I am ready to further my learning. Will you help me gain the speed I will need in order to be ready, Arms Master?"

The barest tic of Glorfindel's left eye told Jeren she had his attention, but she did not entreat him further. To do so would lower his opinion of her, she suddenly had no doubt about that. Jeren endured his penetrating stare for more than a minute without blinking, nor looking away, until he finally seemed satisfied about something she could not identify.

"Yes," he finally answered. "I do not usually spar with beginners myself, but I think I have the ability to do so. Are you ready to start now?"

Jeren smiled, though she inwardly seethed at being called a beginner. Yet she knew that the title fit her present state. But she was also very relieved that she would have the help she needed. And if she wanted to learn it correctly, she knew she could have no better teacher. "Yes, Arms Master. I am ready."

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Jeren dragged herself up the stairs to her room just before the noon meal. She was torn—should she get into the bath and soak for an hour, more than likely falling asleep in the process, or just sponge off so she would be presentable at the table? She was hungry beyond belief! Thinking about missing a meal made her want to cry. She decided to make up her mind when she'd accomplished climbing these never-ending, Valar-forsaken steps!

She opted for the quick sponging and commenced to taking off her clothes in order to accomplish the task. When she looked at her image in the mirror, she could not believe what she saw. Her hair was like a wild nest haloed around her head, tendrils escaping her braid every which way. As she removed her shirt, she noticed a rip at the arm hole, and dirt smudged the whiteness of the cloth in several places, from where she'd landed on the floor so many times she'd lost count. She had bruises on both arms and legs. But worst of all, she had the beginnings of a black eye.

As she gingerly prodded the skin surrounding it, she vaguely remembered when Glorfindel had landed that blow. It had only been a tap with the flat of the wooden blade, intending to sharpen her attention, but it had been hard enough that she would bear the bruise for several days. She went into her bathing room and filled the basin with enough warm water to sponge the worst of the dirt and sweat away.

Glorfindel had worked her hard. The bout she'd been so worried over had lasted less than three heartbeats before she'd found herself laid out on the floor. She smiled ruefully to herself—she hadn't expected to last much longer, truth be told, but she _had_ hoped. And when Glorfindel started the practice sparring she had asked his help with, at a fraction of the speed either of them should have been capable of, Jeren still found herself defensive and back on the floor. She wondered helplessly if all this was fruitless, but as she'd left Glorfindel, he had said, "Until this afternoon." And then he'd smiled—as much as he ever smiled—and had left the exercise room. He obviously had not yet given up on her, so she would not give up on herself—yet.

Her eyes rolled back in her head; she was so tired. How would she get through another session this afternoon, that was bound to be twice as rough as the one this morning? She decided she would worry about that _after_ she had a good meal in her stomach.

She was ready before long, and she took one more look at herself in the mirror. She'd repaired the damage to her hair, but that eye… That would not be repaired; it would only get worse as the day wore on. She decided that there was nothing for it—a battle scar was what it was. She would be proud of it.

She stopped for a moment, remembering a time when Elrohir had said something along the same lines to her. Years ago, he'd called the scars she'd acquired during the Orc attack banners of courage that she should be proud for all to see. She smiled as she thought about him, and how their relationship had changed over the years. How for so long she had in turns hated and loved him…

A soft knock on her door brought her back to herself.

"Jeren, may I come in?" The added question caused her to smile again. Elrohir. It was Elrohir, and her heart quickened at the sound of his voice. Even though she'd just told herself she didn't want to be alone with him, he was here—and she couldn't help throwing the door open and flinging herself into his arms. He walked her backwards into her room, shutting the door behind them with his foot. Before either of them knew what they were doing, they were kissing each other, Jeren losing herself in the joy of being in his arms.

As they paused for breath, Elrohir said with a smile, "I suppose this partially answers my question as to whether I had made you angry the last time we met, and that is why you did not meet with me at the appointed time."

Jeren smiled, although she was inwardly cringing. She decided to act as if she'd not remembered, instead of baring her heart and admitting—yet again—her weakness for him. "No, I am not angry with you—I've been too busy to think, much less remember the date I had made with you." At Elrohir's pretended affront, she added, "—although it was a very important date."

With slow deliberateness, Elrohir drew her nearer to him, but stopped just short of kissing her. With his lips so close they bumped into hers as he spoke, he said, "I've come to see if you have reached any conclusions concerning what we talked about, last time I saw you alone."

Not retreating an inch, Jeren said, her voice soft, her lips right at his, "You told me that you would give me time."

"So I did," he said, chuckling, and he kissed her again.

And again Jeren was carried away on a wave of love and need. Something was going to have to change—and soon. Either Elrohir was going to have to stay completely away from her, so as not to tempt her this way, or he was going to have to give in and let her have her way with him. When she didn't think she could stand it any longer, she took Elrohir's hand and pulled him toward her bed. The question in her eyes was unmistakable.

But the return question on his face had Jeren perplexed. She could not tell what he was asking her. Finally, his words left no doubt, "Are you prepared to bond with me right now, Jeren? I am ready, but the question is yours to answer."

Jeren hesitated but for a moment, then answered by again tugging at his hand. She pulled him into her arms, kissing him deeply. It felt as if all the logical thinking she had done the entire week prior wasn't so logical anymore. She loved him. She needed him. There would be no others in her life as long as she lived, and she welcomed that thought. What was she waiting for?

Elrohir pulled his lips away from hers reluctantly, looking into her eyes, and it was those eyes that gave her pause. He was Elfkind. She would be dooming him to a life alone after she passed from this world if she went through with this. But he'd just said he was ready to bond. And even Aragorn had told her that the children of Elrond were of age, capable of deciding for themselves what they wanted. Who was she to gainsay Elrohir when it came to deciding his own fate?

But the longer she thought, the more logic returned to her thinking. They hadn't discussed important things—things such as where would they live? What would they do? What _were_ Elrohir's expectations of their lives together? Would she be allowed the same freedom she'd always enjoyed?

She suddenly thought about marriages in general. The woman was always expected to keep the home hearths burning; keep their clothes mended and clean; cook and bake for the family.

_The family_. They'd not talked about children; Jeren had assumed that Elrohir was just as reconciled as she was to the idea that there would be no children with her, but she didn't know that as fact. They'd never discussed it.

All her fatigue came back in a rush and she slumped in Elrohir's embrace. "No, Elrohir," Jeren said halfheartedly, "I am not ready to bond with you." She pulled herself out of his arms and walked out onto her veranda. The beautiful sunshine seemed dulled now, as if the sun did not shine for her at all.

Elrohir came up from behind her and put his arms around her. She laid her head back onto his shoulder. "There are many things that are undecided—things we've not discussed between us."

"Such as?" he asked her. She could tell he was not angry or frustrated with her for changing her mind so abruptly. She pulled his arms more closely around her. _Valar, how she loved him. _

"Such as, where will we live?" she said. "Here? Or at the settlement? Or is it up to me at all?"

She could feel him shrug his shoulders slightly. "I thought we would live here for now, until such time as we both might want to live elsewhere. We can go wherever you wish."

"All right," she said, preparing her next question. "What will we do? Will you go back to fighting Orcs as before? Will you stay here with me until my arm is as well as it will ever be, and then go back with me to the settlement so that I can resume my duties as a ranger? That is assuming that I can pass the required tests again."

Jeren felt Elrohir's sudden tension. She was afraid that they had finally hit the snag that would put an end to their plans.

"You are bent on returning to being a ranger, Jeren?" he asked her quietly.

"If it is at all possible, Elrohir."

He gently turned her around so that he could look at her as he spoke. "You know how I feel about you fighting, Jeren. It has been one thing to watch you leave, knowing you might possibly be fighting in battles; it will be another being bonded to you and doing the same. I had hoped that you were intending to stop, since this injury had all but put an end to any idea that you might wield weapons again."

"I've been sparring with Glorfindel, Elrohir," she told him. At his raised brows and crooked smile, she added, "Yes, he beats me soundly, but I have no intention of giving up until I either master the sword with my left hand, or the Arms Master tells me there is no use continuing."

Elrohir gently touched the purpling skin around her right eye. "I had wondered about this. Glorfindel never makes a move that he does not mean to. What did you do to deserve this?"

"I believe it must have been when I let my defenses down momentarily—I was all but dead on my feet at the time. He wants to teach me that death is no reason to give up, I assume."

Elrohir pulled her against him again, and she could feel his quiet laughter. "There is nothing you have mentioned so far, Jeren, that together we cannot work through."

"There's one more thing, Elrohir," Jeren said. "What about children? Can you live with the thought that there will be no children with me?"

"I have occasionally dreamed that someday I might have a son—or daughter. But Elves have ceased having children at all right now. The world is in too much turmoil—it has been this way for a very long time. So the probability that you and I would have children, even if you could conceive, is not very high."

"Your father has told me that it might be possible that I could get with child, but not probable that I could carry it for the required term without staying prone the entire time. If I could only be still long enough…"

"Well then there is hope for the future, if you ever wish to try. I would not be averse to the idea, but the two of us not becoming parents wouldn't be a reason for me to not bond with you."

She embraced him again, and as they stood there together, Jeren's stomach growled fiercely with hunger. Elrohir stood back, and the smile on his face made Jeren laugh.

"Let's go get you fed," he said through his mirth. "From the sounds of things, you are hungry indeed."

They headed for the door, and suddenly Jeren stopped. "I suppose this means that I have agreed to bond with you Elrohir." She looked almost as surprised as she'd sounded. "But when?"

"This afternoon?" he asked.

"Just like that?" she replied, astounded. "Are there not plans to be made? People to tell? I would think your father would like to know we've decided this. You know he is still worried about your choice. We really should talk to him, Elrohir."

"We will speak to him, but after, Jeren. I hold to Elvish tradition only so far—the usual betrothal period is a year, and I am sure he would highly advise us to wait the entire year out."

At Jeren's shocked expression, he laughed again. But he did not tell her the true reason for keeping their bonding a secret. He knew as well as he stood here, that his father would talk Jeren out of bonding with him at all. He had heard his father speak on this very subject on many occasions, and his arguments all sounded wholly lucid and reasonable, so much so that it would take little convincing on his part to talk Jeren out of it entirely. While he loved his father, when it came to this subject—and his children—he could be completely without conscience. Arwen and Estel's situation was the shining example of some of his father's finest work. No, he could not take the chance that his father would ruin what he had with Jeren.

He would not.

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Jeren could not keep her eyes off Elrohir for the entire noon meal, and he kept watching her as well. While she fed her hunger for food, her hunger for him only increased. She so much wanted to get up from this table after having eaten her fill, take Elrohir by the hand and go bond with him as soon as the meal was over. She very much wanted to start their lives together today.

But she knew she could not. Not only did Glorfindel expect her back at the armory this afternoon, Aragorn did also. Aragorn did not matter so much; he was due to leave in four days any way. But Glorfindel—that was another matter.

She could not act as she had before and make the Arms Master so angry that he'd refuse to train her again. Above all else she could not do that. And trying to explain why she was not going to be there? She would die of shame if she told the truth, and Elrohir wouldn't like it, either. While she had thought to wait longer to bond with him, she'd had no intention of waiting an entire year, and if Glorfindel found out about their plans, he was sure to spread the news to the Lord of Imladris. Who might, in turn, put a halt to any of their romantic notions.

No, unfortunately she would have to pull Elrohir aside as soon as they were finished eating and regretfully put off their tryst, at least until tonight. It was the only way.

"You have quite the bruise around your eye, Jeren," Lord Elrond said as he laid down his fork. Jeren glanced at him, but he was staring hard at Glorfindel, as if he wanted to put a like bruise upon the ancient Arms Master.

"My concentration flagged and I paid for it," she said, squaring her jaw and sitting up straighter, taking full responsibility. Her eyes kept moving between the two Elf lords as she said this. She wished Lord Elrond would not be so protective of her; after all, it was his idea originally for her to be taught by the Arms Master. She in no way wanted Glorfindel to decide not to train her for any reason.

"One should not have to pay with a blow to the face," he said then, his tone cold, the comment aimed at his oldest friend.

"I do not tell you how to run Rivendell, my friend," was Glorfindel's dry reply.

Jeren froze, her fork halfway to her mouth, fearing to look at either lord. But she finally stole a glance at Lord Elrond, only to see him break into a large grin.

"As you say," he said, though he was close to laughter.

Jeren took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Another crisis avoided. For now…

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

As soon as the meal had ended, Elrohir took Jeren by the hand and headed for the stairs. But she pulled back, and when he looked into her face, he could see the regret written there as plainly as if it were in letters on a page.

He could feel his own smile falter. "You have a prior commitment, do you not?" he asked.

"I am afraid that I do," she said remorsefully. "You know I would not let just anything part us. You do understand how important my training is to me, do you not Elrohir?"

He smiled, saying, "Yes, I do know. You have no argument from me, although I do lament the postponement of our plans."

"As do I," she said. She very much wanted to throw her arms around him, but there were too many people about and she did not want to draw that much attention. Instead she said, "Tonight then? After the evening meal?"

He smiled again and kissed the tip of her nose. "It is a date. And do not think to get out of this one; not for any reason."

She smiled then, saying, "_You _had better be ready, my lord. I intend—" and here she lowered her voice as she stepped closer to him, "—to ravish you."

Elrohir's eyebrows rose and his grin widened. "I intend to hold you to that, my lady."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**A/N: Thanks so much to everyone ****who has reviewed my story so far: **Southern Pride, American Pride, Duck, ******Nell******, ****dr3, Shycoyotegirl, Song in the Woods, Livia09, Sadie Sil, Brandibuckeye, Lady Anne, Teacalm, and Elfinabottle. My, my, my, but things are beginning to heat up now...  
><strong>******


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

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"I just cannot do it, Elrohir."

The Elf looked at her incredulously after he dragged his lips away from her throat, her words finally penetrating through the haze of his desire. The two of them were entwined, naked, in Elrohir's bed, about to bond with one another—and she had just told him to stop.

"Jeren, why?" he asked her, trying not to sound as frustrated and disappointed as he truly was. He'd known when he first met her outside his door this evening that she was nervous, but he had decided it was due to the immense step they were about to take. Who wouldn't be tense? He was too, but in a good way. Now he realized her uneasiness had to do with something else.

Her face was beautiful in the flickering light of the candles he'd lit throughout the room. He'd wanted to see all her reactions this night as they made love for the first time. But as he looked closer—into her eyes—he could see the clouds of concern in them.

"What is it, Jeren?" he asked again.

She rose from the bed, dragging the sheet along with her. She wrapped it around herself, tucking it into her cleavage as she walked away. He could not stand the gulf she was opening between them, so he got up as well and followed her. When he reached her he placed his hands on her bare shoulders, feeling the electricity between them. It felt as if his fingers were melding to her skin, and he would not be able to move his hands if he tried. But as she leaned into him, he felt the bond loosen and his hands came around to clasp in front of her.

"Tell me, Jeren," he said yet again, trying to prompt her into revealing her heart.

"I cannot do this to your father," she said, her voice troubled.

He turned her around to really look at her. "We are not doing anything to him, Jeren."

"We are deceiving him, Elrohir." Her large gray eyes looked up into his, and he could feel her pain as if it were his own. He drew her to his chest, holding her close, but she pulled back to look at him again after only a few seconds.

He could see the pain clearly on her face, but he knew he had to convince her of the importance of keeping their bonding quiet. "Do you believe me when I say this secrecy is necessary?" he asked her then.

She nodded, but said, "Still… it just isn't right. He loves me, Elrohir, and I love him. I've never told him falsely before; I do not want to start now. Not after he has been so good to me for so many years, treating me as his family when he had no real reason to do so. I love him," she repeated. "And besides that, I do not want us to start our lives together with a lie."

"He will stop us, Jeren," he said in warning, allowing some heat to finally enter his voice. It made him angry that his father could have such dominion over his life. "I have told you how he reacted to Arwen and Estel's plans. Do you think he will accept ours any easier?"

"I _do_ think so, Elrohir," she said with conviction. "You have no intention of choosing as Arwen has; once he understands that, he will give us his blessing. I know that he will. He already loves me—he would not deny my happiness when he has nothing to gain."

Elrohir dropped his hands from her shoulders and walked to the curtain that was drawn over the entrance to his veranda. He grabbed the fabric, bunching it up in his fists, looking as if he would fling it open in anger, but Jeren knew he would not. If anyone saw her in here, in her state of undress, the news would more than likely reach the Lord of Imladris' ears. Instead, Elrohir dropped his hands to his sides and approached her again.

When he was finally calmer, without looking at her, he said, "He loves Estel, too, Jeren, and you know the conditions he put forth to him, before he will allow Estel to bond with my sister." He looked at her then and watched as her shoulders sagged, but he went on, "You do not know my father as I do. That reassurance you seek to give him will not be enough. It seems he needs some sort of a pledge. A promise I am not ready to give him." He stopped for a moment, but then said in a quieter voice, "Perhaps it is childish of me to want control over my own life, Jeren, but that is what this boils down to. I could pledge to him that I will always remain Elfkind, but I see no reason to do that, other than to make him feel better. This is _my_ life—not his. I feel it is childish of _him _to demand such of me."

"If just keeping it from him is the answer, then why didn't Aragorn and Arwen defy him, as you want the two of us to do?"

"Estel is such an honorable man, I think it never occurred to him."

"But I should embrace this deception regardless; is that what you mean?"

Elrohir sighed with defeat when Jeren turned away from him again. He knew her moods—nothing he said was going to change her mind. He wanted to rage at her, beat this truth he was trying to impart to her into her head. But he could not. He loved her too much. She was only following her heart, which was telling her to do the honorable thing, not go behind backs, just so that she could have her way. He tried to do the same in his own life, but in this instance it just wasn't realistic.

He walked back to her, his footsteps leaden, and took her into his arms again. "All right, Jeren," he said, his tone resigned. "We will speak to him before we take this final step." Jeren thought he was finished, but he went on, "Promise me you will not let him change your mind. Please? Can you promise me this?" When she did not answer at first, he said, "Do not be surprised when he does not react in the joyous way you expect."

"He _will_, Elrohir," Jeren said, the light coming back into her eyes. "I know he will. You will see. And then we will bond and it will be beautiful. I can hardly wait. Let's go tell him now, all right?"

Elrohir pulled her into his arms again, unwilling to let her see the foreboding that had to be written all over his face. And he'd heard clearly, though she'd not said a word, that she had not given him her promise. She had avoided that altogether.

As he got dressed, he glanced at the woman he loved. She looked so happy right now. Why could he not shake the feeling it would be long before he saw her look thusly again?

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"You are going to do what?" Elrond asked, his brows raised.

"We are going to bond, Father," Elrohir repeated. "We wanted to tell you of our plans and ask your blessing on our union."

Elrond looked at his son in stony silence for at least a full minute, and then he turned his back on them both, making his way to the table on which was always kept a decanter of wine as well as one of Miruvor. The older Elf filled his glass with the latter.

He took a large swallow of the drink, and then looked at Elrohir again. He was not pleased.

Jeren could count on one hand the number of times she'd seen him this angry in all the ten years she had known him. "Tell him the rest, Elrohir," she prompted. She feared her urging would do no good, not after what Elrohir had told her before they'd even left his room—that he did not see the need to reassure his father in this way. She had already decided that she would tell his father what he wanted to know if Elrohir did not do so himself.

As Jeren had predicted, Elrohir stood there staring at his father without another word.

So Jeren stepped between the two Elves, hoping to break some of the tension between them. "Elrohir does not ever intend to choose other than being Elfkind, Lord Elrond. You have nothing to worry about in this regard." She smiled at him, trying to show how much she loved him; how much he meant to her.

The look he gave her made her want to cringe and find a place to hide. It wasn't an expression of hate or loathing, but it was not one of love, either.

"Nothing to worry about?" he asked her, his tone austere. "You are not this ignorant, Jeren. I resent you acting as if you truly believe what you are saying."

She knit her brow, at once confused and astounded by his last remark. "What do you mean, my lord?" she asked him, fear turning her blood almost as cold as the Elf lord's words. She never thought to fear Lord Elrond, but she had never had his formidable anger turned toward her before. And it truly wasn't fear she was feeling, in the strict sense of the word, but fear that he was turning from her; that she would lose his love. That was what was making her blood run cold.

"There are so many reasons—reasons which I have explained to you over time—why a marriage between our two races is doomed. Not only do the ones who are wed suffer, but their families do as well. Do you not remember? Should I delineate them for you again?"

Jeren knew exactly what he was talking about. Through the years she had known him, especially when she thought herself in love with Elladan, she had often talked about Elven marriage with Lord Elrond. On occasion she would bring up—in an innocent way so as not to arouse his suspicion, she hoped—the question of whether Humans and Elves could marry one another. He'd told her all the terrible things that could go wrong—the aging of the Human, the fading of the Elf when his Human spouse went beyond the veil of this world—everything. If there was anything she was well-versed on, it was the perils and tragedy that befell a married couple of mixed race, as Lord Elrond saw it. She did not want to hear it again. It was on her mind much as it is.

"No, my lord," she answered. "That will not be necessary."

"As for my blessing, I do _not_ give it."

Elrohir did not have to look at Jeren to know that this last remark must have cut her to the bone.

"Father," Elrohir said, "I have thought this through; I am sure it is what I want to do. Cannot you find it in your heart to give even an inch? Meet us halfway? I am your son. You love Jeren as well." When it was obvious that Elrond was not easing his stance in the least, Elrohir changed his tone. "Are you going to make this a contest of wills between us? Because if you are, then you will lose."

As if he'd not heard Elrohir's comment, even as inflaming as it had been, Elrond said, "When do you propose to do this?"

"Tonight," Elrohir answered. "As soon as we leave you."

Elrond looked down at his glass in despair, as if wondering why the drink was not working—lifting his spirit even the slightest bit. The announcement from these children was much too overwhelming…

"Your haste reeks of your brother's influence," Elrond said, clearly annoyed at Elrohir's choice to waive the usual betrothal time.

"This has little to do with Elladan's effect on my life and more to do with the fact that Jeren is Human, and we do not have even a moment to spare of our life together."

"Which is what I am trying to get you to see, son!" Elrond said, his voice pleading. "You do not know how devastating it will be, when you lose her."

"How devastating will it be to you, Father?" Elrohir asked in return. "You love her too."

Elrond's expression turned inward then, as if he knew he had lost this argument. But instead of giving in, he said, "It is not the same kind of love, Elrohir. Of course I love her. I have since almost the moment I saw her. But when you bond with someone…" Elrond stopped and shook his head sadly, "Your loss will manifest in incompleteness. You will feel as if your heart has been torn asunder, and part of it taken from you. I do not know if anyone or anything will save you from the ruin in which it will leave you."

Jeren felt as if she were a spectator in this argument between this father and his son. That they were Elves merely added to the unreal quality of it all. Lord Elrond's face was drawn with sorrow as he described these tragic consequences, as if he were seeing them before his mind's eye. At first Elrohir was touched by that sorrow, but as Jeren watched, his face relaxed, as if he had indeed thought this through and was ready to accept whatever may be.

"This, too, is my choice, Father," Elrohir said at last, when he could see that Elrond's anger had turned into something more bleak. "You forget that I have a twin. The bond that Elladan and I share will see me through this."

"And how do you know that, Elrohir?" he asked him. "I, too, had a twin brother, lest you forget. And while we were both Elfkind, our bond was unbreakable. It was not so after Elros made his choice. How do you know what Elladan's choice of race will ultimately be? If it is also the path that Arwen is taking, then, with you making this—mistake—should you fade with Jeren's passing, the whole lot of you will be lost to your mother and me."

Elrohir approached his father then, hoping to connect their closeness again; the contentment that Elven parents feel with their children when all is well. "You are fretting where there is no worry, Father. Unless you know something that I do not. Has Elladan already told you of his choice, but he is keeping it from me?"

Jeren wanted to weep at the anguish she saw on Elrond's face. "It is by his deeds that I judge his bent toward Humanity. He has not told me directly in words, but…"

"But you fear it is true?" his son finished for him. Elrond nodded but did not say anything more. Elrohir glanced at Jeren, and her face was ashen with unshed tears. He wanted to take her into his arms and reassure her, make her see that while the Elf lord was hurt, he was not broken, but he had to finish this with his father first.

"You have no notion how much I've wished there had never been _any_ _choice_, Father, for any of us. I've wished it from the time I was old enough to understand the ramifications of it. But knowing the havoc it can wreak does not erase what Elros' choice gave to us—the Númenóreans, and ultimately, the Dúnedain. There would be no Arathorn, no Gilraen, no Estel, no Anardil, Jennah, no Jeren—or any of those who have gone before them. We have known and nurtured a great many of them. So I cannot wish this choice had never been given, or I would have missed knowing people who I have loved over the vast reaches of my lifetime. I would miss the very one I was meant to love and be with. Can you not see that, Father?"

"Seeing it and agreeing with what you propose are two very different things, son," Elrond said, his tone not quite so defeated any more, but more resentful.

"Lord Elrond—" Jeren started, but the Elf lord's upraised hand put a halt to her approach to him. "Please? May I speak?"

"No more," he said directly to Jeren. "I have heard quite enough. I neither approve nor bless your union." He looked at Elrohir again. "As your father I am asking for more time, before you do this."

"How much time, Father?" Elrohir asked. He looked to Jeren, as if asking her agreement. "A few days, perhaps?"

"If that is all you can grant me, I suppose it will have to do," Elrond said. "But for now, if you do not mind, please, just leave me."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"So _now_ do you see why I did not want to tell my father before we bonded, Jeren?"

The look the woman gave him would have killed, had her eyes been armed with other than a venomous gaze. She'd heard Elrohir's frustration. He was blaming her for his father's upset. And she could not abide that.

"So mayhap you should have kept your lips to yourself, those weeks ago when you first kissed me, Elrohir!"

He had the grace to look contrite. "I am sorry, Jeren, but had we not involved him, we would now be basking in our marriage bed, instead of exchanging harsh words with one another."

"—And just saving the harsh words for another time, Elrohir." She walked toward the stairs.

"Where are you going, Jeren?"

"I'm going to bed. I'm about to fall on my face from fatigue, and I have training early and late with Glorfindel on the morrow."

By now he'd caught up with her, and had taken one of her arms into his hand, effectively keeping her from making the first step onto the stairs. "Will you sleep, or will you merely keep going over this disaster in your mind all night?"

"Probably the latter," she admitted, "but at least I will be lying down. I am tired beyond reason. It is all I can do to keep placing one foot in front of the other."

"Could I come with you?" he asked, the hope in his expression unmistakable.

"If you like," she replied, "but I can promise you that there will be no bonding tonight."

"I don't care about that for the moment," he said. "I only want to hold you as you fall asleep. I feel responsible for this. I suppose that's why I was trying to turn the blame around and back onto you. But you did not deserve that from me. I am sorry, Jeren."

"Must someone be to blame?" she asked him. When he didn't answer she said, "You have nothing to feel guilty about Elrohir."

"I should have made you see what would happen," he said. "I knew this is how he would react, but I wasn't persuasive enough in convincing you that we should not do it."

She just looked at him sadly and said, "You may come with me if you like, Elrohir. If I can sleep, I will. If not, I will welcome the company."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren wondered if this is what being married felt like. She was getting ready for bed in her bathing room, and she knew that Elrohir was in the bedchamber, turning down her bed. She was sharing her room with Elrohir tonight, as if he belonged here all the time. It was nice, in a way—she was sad and needed his consolation. She knew it would go no farther than that tonight, because she truly had no heart for consummating a marriage, a marriage that Lord Elrond in no way sanctioned. And besides that, Elrohir had promised the Elf lord they would wait a few days.

She emerged from the bathing room in her nightdress to find Elrohir sitting on the bed removing his boots. She'd wondered if he'd been completely serious about staying with her tonight, and from the looks of things, he was. She removed the leather thong from the end of her braid and ran her fingers through her hair, loosening it. She looked into the mirror then, to check the bruise on her face, and in so doing, glimpsed Elrohir gazing at her, pure want in his eyes. She smiled to herself. For once the shoe was on the other foot—he was wanting her and she could not be with him—her heart just wasn't in it tonight. Besides that she didn't know if she would be able to bond with him at all; not with Lord Elrond being so very angry with them both, although when they'd left his study, he'd seemed more angry at her than Elrohir.

Elrohir got up from the bed and unbuttoned his shirt, and as he was pulling it down his arms, there came a knock on the door. He froze where he was and Jeren looked at him with question in her eyes. _She truly wanted to see no one else tonight. Should she even answer it?_

He shrugged as if he'd heard her thoughts, so she went to the door and opened it slowly. It was Lord Elrond and Jeren couldn't have been more surprised, even if she'd found an Orc darkening her doorway.

"May I speak to you?" he asked her. She could not tell his mood, although he still seemed frightfully formal, so without speaking she widened the entrance, allowing him inside.

The Elf lord's face paled when he saw Elrohir there, with his shirt hanging from one arm. He turned back to Jeren, saying, "Alone? Please…"

"You have nothing to say to her than I cannot hear," Elrohir interjected.

"Please," the Elf lord repeated, looking only at Jeren.

Jeren felt torn—she truly did not know what to do, so she said, "It is all right, Elrohir. All will be well."

"Jeren—" he started, but she went to him, and with her hands on his chest, said, "All will be well. You will see."

Reluctantly Elrohir pulled his shirt back over his shoulders. "Are you very sure?" he asked.

"I am," she replied.

Leaving his shirt open, he bent and kissed her lips before he left. She gave him a wan smile and watched as he walked out, his boots in his hand. Elrond closed the door behind his son, and stood there facing it for several seconds. Then he turned and walked toward her.

She still could not tell if he'd had a change of heart, or if he was still as angry as he was before. He'd clasped his hands behind his back as he strode out onto the veranda. She'd not gotten around to pulling the curtain for the night.

"You gave me your word you would wait," he said at first. "Have you no honor?"

When she had first seen Elrond at her door, she had forced her anger aside—her emotion then had been more of grief. But now, after hearing an attack as the very first words from his mouth, her blood ran hot.

"In the first place, my lord," she said directly, "you made the bargain with your son. I made no comment—as was _your_ wish. Now, if you have other than slander on your mind, please continue; otherwise, I would bid you good night."

"My apologies," he said quietly. He looked her in the eyes so unswervingly for a few moments that she wanted to squirm and look away. But she did neither. Finally, he broke the contact and said, "Jeren, I have a few questions to ask you."

She'd noticed right away that he'd used her given name. No 'Dear One' or 'Young One' tonight! That alone told her more than she wanted to know. She gave him a nod so that he would continue.

"Are you truly ready to bond with Elrohir? As you may or may not know, there is usually a year's time between the promising and the bonding. There are many things you do not know about one another…"

"I know that I love him, Lord Elrond. And I've practically lived with him for ten years. I am sure there are things about him unknown to me, but I already know the important things. He is loyal, honorable, hard-working, hard-headed, sarcastic, loving. In fact, I may know more about him than you do, though you do have the advantage of millennia that I do not."

"He was his mother's favorite, although she would never tell him or any of our children that. They had a special bond, one I would not see broken for any reason."

"There is no reason for it to be broken, my lord," Jeren said. "Elrohir has not told you this, because he believes himself to be old enough to make his own decisions—with or without your express approval, if need be—but unless Elladan were to choose Humanity, you have nothing to fear as far as Elrohir's choice is concerned. He will remain Elfkind. So Lady Celebrian will see Elrohir again in her lifetime, if you but quit pressuring him now."

"It is not I who will hold him to Middle-earth. It is you."

"I will be gone soon enough, in the scheme of things, for it to make no difference."

"And if he fades? What then?"

"I would think that you would first and foremost be glad that he led the life he wanted with the person who made him whole, my lord, rather than to withhold the one that he loves so that his life might be longer, but unfulfilled."

"You speak with a wisdom that belies your age, Jeren, but you still do not understand. It isn't just me that I am pleading for—it is for my wife, Elrohir's mother. She is not here to plead with you herself, so I must do it in her stead."

"You might think you are rending my heart with your pleas, but you are making me angrier by the minute. Your children are grown, Lord Elrond. They can make their own choices. Elrohir has chosen me, and I him. You are just going to have to accept it. I do not want to go against your wishes, but I also cannot go against my own heart. It will grieve me greatly to have to defy you in the end, but if that is what happens, then it will happen."

"It is all very romantic to you, isn't it?" he asked as he turned his back to her, walking a short distance away. But he faced her once again. "A game that you enjoy playing. But then, I suppose, it was so, too, with Elladan _and_ Rhyse, was it not?"

Jeren could not have been more hurt had he physically slapped her. She tried to tell herself that he was using underhanded tactics to get his way, nothing more. But the grain of truth that struck her where she was most vulnerable wouldn't allow her to completely ignore the Elf lord's wounding remark. She could feel her heart harden toward him, and it made her want to weep with the realization that she was not only angry with Lord Elrond, but that he was ripping her love of him right from her heart.

"I have never played games, my lord, not with either Rhyse or Elladan. I was quite serious with both of them. But it has taken my experience with them to let me know that I am indeed completely in love with Elrohir. My love of him is different than that I had for the others. It is deeper, more absolute. I would not even consider bonding with him if it were not. I understand the grave nature of this action I plan to take, but more importantly, Elrohir understands it. _He_ asked _me_ to bond with him, Lord Elrond. I did not ask it of him."

"No, you did not ask it of him. But neither will you do what is in his best interest and tell him no. I thought your love might run deeper than that, where you could be more selfless, do what should be done. I was obviously wrong."

He paced in her room like a caged cat seeking a way to escape his fear. Her heart at once pitied him, and then it pitied herself. She wanted things back the way they had always been—Lord Elrond loving her, taking care of her…

That might come in the future, but for now, he was not anything like he'd always been to her. He continued to speak, not shouting, but his words beat against her heart like strokes of a whip.

"In the end, you will not be here to see his shattered soul. For it will shatter with the loss of you, once the two of you are bonded and you eventually die. Yet that will not be a problem _you_ will face, it will be one his family must meet and confront. We will watch as he withers and dies from his grief with your death. I have watched this happen to others before. I have wished never to see it visited on anyone I love, but _you_ will have no worry; _you_ will be gone."

"And how many of those who had lost their spouses were bonded to Humans, Lord Elrond?" Jeren asked heatedly. "Precious few, I think. Can you not see that it could happen even were I Elven, just as you and Elrohir are?"

"Yes, it could, but it _will_ happen since you _are_ Human—if you go through with this."

Jeren was determined he would not see her weep. He wanted to break her, and he was succeeding, but she would not let him see. "Would you please go now, my lord?" she asked him, her voice quiet but steady. "I am very tired and I have a long day tomorrow."

"All I ask for now is that you think about what I have said. Please. My son's very life depends on it." He stood looking at her for a few moments more, but then he turned and left.

Jeren barely made it to her bed before she was sobbing. She threw herself face down on her pillow so that the sound of her weeping might be deadened and not reach the Elf lord's ears. She did not know how long she wept, for she fell asleep, her body too tired to remain awake any longer, her heart in pieces and needing the respite.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Later that night, though Jeren did not know how much later, she awoke in Elrohir's arms. It could have been ten minutes that she'd been asleep or ten hours, she had no way of knowing. The lamp beside the bed was still lit, but the cloak of darkness shrouded the outside world. It mattered not, because she remained too tired to think coherently. Or so she thought…

Because as soon as her eyes opened, her mind began racing. She didn't know what she should do—stay here and lose herself in her training until she could train no more, or leave and go back to the settlement. She very badly wanted to see Elen and all her family; cuddle little Charlie. Hear her aunt's sweet voice, feel her warm hands in hers as she told Jeren everything would be well. But it felt as if things would never be right again.

She didn't know if she loved or hated Lord Elrond right now. It had been so automatic to love him before—like breathing. She'd loved him with all her heart. But now… He was so wroth with her, and unless she did not do as he said, he would remain so. She could not bear that. But she also could not bear giving up Elrohir. She'd told Rhyse she would never be able to do so, and she knew she had not changed her mind. And now she felt an almost irresistible pull to be with him—love him; let him love her.

Was Lord Elrond right? Was she doing the wrong thing? She glanced at Elrohir beside her, his eyes glassy as he walked his dream paths. She was being very still, and knew it would take but one deep sigh to have him roused from his reverie and she did not want to do that. Her instinct was to hide—be with no one—but she welcomed his warmth. She wanted him so much, but his father's words still echoed in her mind—_I thought your love might run deeper, where you could be more selfless, do what should be done…_

Her emotions were in chaos. Her defenses were down, and she knew if Elrohir took her into his arms to make love to her, she would love him in return. But Lord Elrond's visit last night had cast doubt in her mind, and whenever she thought about their conversation, she felt icy, like a dousing with cold water.

She sat up slightly and blew out the lamp, then settled down into Elrohir's waiting arms again. She needed him desperately, and he seemed to sense this, so he pulled her closer. "Are you all right, Jeren?" he asked her, his voice scratchy from disuse.

"I am fine," she whispered, as she placed her fingertips on his lips. "Quiet, now; go back to your dreaming. It is what I aim to do."

He squeezed her more tightly, and heaved a deep sigh, settling them both better on her pillows. She relaxed in his arms, willing sleep to return. He gently stroked her back as they lay there and before she knew it…

…she knew no more.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren awoke the following morning with Elrohir spooned up behind her. She was startled at first, having him in her bed, but after a minute she got her bearings, and everything came back in a rush. She had not felt so utterly lost for months—she didn't like revisiting this feeling at all.

How would they get Lord Elrond to come around to their way of thinking? Or would he never do so, and they would be at odds forever? She could never endure that. What would she have to do to appease him? Give up Elrohir completely? She did not think she could do that, either—not at this point.

She rose from the bed, leaving Elrohir staring at her retreating form. He'd not said a word this morning, but he really had no need to. In short order she emerged from the bathing room, fully clothed, and headed to her dressing table to braid her hair.

Elrohir was gone—vanished, it seemed. And as she tried to braid her hair, she suddenly knew how much good Lord Elrond's poultices had been doing her—she'd gone to bed last night without one for the first time in quite a long while, and her arm was very sore this morning. She supposed she would just have to suffer, because she was not about to seek him out in order that he act as her healer again—not until they had mended their fences. And that did not look to be coming for a very long time.

So it took her twice as long as usual to get her hair plaited, but just as she finished, her door opened and Elrohir came in bearing a tray with their breakfast. She hadn't felt hungry in the least, but the moment she caught a whiff of the sausage that was on one of the plates, her stomach started reminding her that it often had a mind of its own. Elrohir placed the tray on the table in front of Jeren, and then he leaned against the wardrobe beside it and lifted the cover off the plates.

"Have you any appetite this morning?" he asked, with an innocent air about his face, but then his smile turned wicked when he added, "Does the sun set of an evening? Or rise at the beginning of the day?"

Jeren smiled at his teasing, and picked up a piece of toast from the plate. It had been buttered, but she also took the knife that she found there and spread some blackberry jam on top of it before she took a big bite. After she had chewed and swallowed, she said, "Can I help it if my appetite does not wax and wane along with my emotions?"

He leaned in close to her, his face mere inches from hers. "I would have it no other way." He kissed her lightly on the mouth, and then licked his lips. "Mmm… I think I will have a little of that." Jeren grinned as he fixed himself the other slice of toasted bread in the same way that she had done and began eating also. Just before he took a bite, he said, "You can't keep good people like us down, can you, especially when it comes to eating?"

Jeren chuckled at his antics, as she knew he was hoping she'd do. He was trying very hard to lighten her mood, but unfortunately he was having no luck. They set to eating their meal before it grew cold. He'd brought eggs along with the sausage and toast, with apple juice to drink—enough for both of them. They ate in silence until all the food was gone.

As soon as they were finished, Elrohir took her hand and pulled her up to stand before him. "Jeren," he said as he ran his long fingers along her cheek, "I am sorry how last night turned out."

"I should have listened to you, Elrohir, and bonded with you without anyone else's knowledge. But truthfully, we would just have this same problem, only later instead of now."

"That is true, Jeren. It wouldn't have mattered. I knew he wouldn't take it well, whenever he learned of it. But I ran a small errand while you spoke with my father last night. I decided a talk with Glorfindel would do me—and my father—much good. So I went to see him, told him of our plans—he believes me to be a fool—but I know he is on our side. He promised to speak with my father. If anyone can make him see reason, Glorfindel can."

"But they've already fought over this very subject only a few months ago, Elrohir," she retorted. "Except the people involved were Aragorn and Arwen, not us. It is likely to make things even worse, do you not think?"

"It could, in the mood my father is in. I think Glorfindel learned the last time what is fair and what is not in arguing with my father."

Jeren paced to the curtain and pulled it open, and glorious sunlight spilled into the room. "It could mean the end of their friendship, Elrohir. That would be tragic. I would hate to see your father without Glorfindel in his life."

"If that happens, Jeren," Elrohir said, "then it will be of his own making—no one else's."

As Jeren walked back toward Elrohir, he asked her, "What did my father want to talk to you about last night?" He paused a moment, but frowned when she didn't answer as soon as he liked. "I could have listened at the door, as I was very tempted to do, but I decided I would not be sneaky. I would just ask you right out. Now tell me."

Jeren smiled again. Elrohir was—Elrohir. There was no one like him anywhere, that she'd yet met, anyway. But she just continued to smile at him. When the frustration made itself known on his face, she merely said, "We just talked about you and me and bonding, and why it was a bad idea."

"I think it was more than that, Jeren," he said, finally serious. "When I came back in here last night, you were asleep, but you'd obviously been crying."

"And how would you know that?" she wanted to know, her face reddening with embarrassment.

"Your pillow was wet, for one thing," he said, and he smiled when he saw her smile again.

"I was asleep. My mouth was open, I'll bet. It was drool and nothing more."

He wrinkled his nose. "Don't be indelicate," he said, but he smiled.

"What—? Do not tell me that Elves never drool!"

"Only when they lust after beautiful maidens," he said, "or perhaps a particularly appealing dish." He looked as if he thought about that idea for a moment, then added, "Or perhaps that is one and the same."

Jeren laughed out loud that time; she couldn't help herself, and he hugged her to him. She leaned back a little and said, "He basically told me the same thing he told us when we were in his study last night."

He looked at her with doubt. "Somehow, I do not think that would have made you cry."

She rolled her eyes, knowing she was going to have to tell him at least a part of it, or he would never leave her alone. "He might have mentioned that you were your mother's favorite child…"

Elrohir barked out a laugh, the incredulous look on his face grew even more so as he said, "I cannot believe he would stoop so low, as to not only use my mother against you, but tell you a falsehood, besides."

"A falsehood?" Jeren asked with growing disbelief. "Your father lied to me?"

Elrohir shook his head as he told her, "I would not exactly call it lying, Jeren. I'm sure on some level he believed what he was telling you. But not only was I _not_ my mother's favorite child, she constantly told me how I made her despair! Arwen was her clear favorite—and Elladan could do no wrong, even though he did whatever he pleased, most of the time. Everything that went wrong was always _my _fault. Well… It generally was, but that's beside the point."

Jeren just shook her head at Elrohir's tirade, smiling, but still not able to really laugh. He could see she was unhappy yet, so he said, "What else did my father say? You have not told me what made you cry."

"I wish you'd quit bringing that up!" she said heatedly. "You know how it embarrasses me to weep! Now I would appreciate it if you would stop talking about it."

"I will… just as soon as you tell me what he said to upset you."

Jeren heaved a big sigh. She knew it was inevitable that Elrohir would know what he wanted to know. "He told me—he said that…" She hesitated, not wanting to bring up the names of her two former lovers, but that is ultimately what had made her cry. Knowing that Lord Elrond had used that particular thing against her, grieved her more than almost anything else he had said. "He brought up Rhyse and Elladan, and he wondered if I was just playing at love with you. And to be honest, Elrohir, I have been afraid that that might be true. I do not think that it is, but it scares me."

He pulled her to him again, wanting to hold her and will the doubt from her mind. "It isn't true, Jeren," he whispered into her ear. She raised her eyes to look at him. "You have nothing to fear. I know you—you are too honorable to have agreed to bond with me at all, if you did not love me, knowing that my bond with you will last even after you are gone."

She fell against him again, relieved to hear him say that. She'd not thought about it in that way, but she knew that Elrohir was right. Regardless of what Lord Elrond had said last night, she did have honor. "I love you, Elrohir."

"I love you, too, Jeren."

"Jeren?" Elrohir said, as he moved her away from him gently. "I suppose what I really want to know is whether or not my father has succeeded in changing your mind. Are you still going to bond with me, even though he has expressed his disapproval?"

She looked at him for several moments, deciding what her answer would be. "Yes," she finally said, "but I do want to wait until he shows a little more favor toward our union."

"That may be never, Jeren," he said in a matter of fact sort of way. "He is not only against it because of what he fears my choice will be, but for several other reasons."

"You think if you do not say them, that they aren't real, Elrohir?" she asked him.

He smiled. "I know they are real, but I just do not believe they will affect me like he thinks they will." He looked introspective for a moment, and then he added, "I have given it all a great deal of thought; I think I would welcome fading, after you are gone."

Hearing him say this only confirmed what Lord Elrond was telling her! If he did not fight the fading, it was sure to happen. How could she follow through with their bonding, knowing he would embrace dying in the end?

Elrohir watched as her face turned panicked, and he hastened to reassure her. "Neither of us knows what our life together will bring, Jeren. It could be that we have a child—or children—whom I would not want to leave. There could be other circumstances that would have me wishing to remain in the world. And you know that Elladan would not give me up without a fight.

"I hope you and I could go to Valinor together, and then you would live on with me for—well, if not forever, then for much longer than you would survive here. My point being that we do not know the future. My father thinks he does, but he has thoughts of only what could go wrong in his mind, not of what could be right." He lifted her chin, because her eyes were cast downward in her fear. "And as I have been trying to tell you _and_ my father, it is _my_ life—I want to choose how to live it."

Jeren put her arms around Elrohir then, her love for him overflowing her soul. To think he was willing to give up his very life just to be with her was daunting, but it also showed the depth of his love. She knew at this moment—without any doubt—that she loved him just as profoundly.

Elrohir gently pulled on her braid, raising her face to his. He kissed her as he'd not kissed her before. It didn't feel any different on the surface, but deep in her soul it felt almost as if he were claiming her heart once and for all.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**A/N: Ai, I hated letting Jeren and Elrohir get so close to bonding and then it not happening, but that is the way of a story, is it not? Twists and turns and disappointments. _And_ an eventual happy ending? Yes, that is my promise that there will be a happy ending to this story, but much still must happen. Please come back and read some more...**


	21. Chapter 21

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Elrohir, you must cease this," Jeren said, practically purring. His lips on her throat made conscious thought almost impossible.

"You don't sound as if you want me to stop," he replied between kisses. He nipped at her ear lobe. She gasped, and leaned her head back, giving him better access to her skin. With his lips at her ear he said, "Are you sure that you want me to stop? I could bring you much pleasure."

"Yes… I'm sure…" she said, but again, she didn't sound convincing even to her own ears. "Elrohir... You _must_…"

"What must I do?" he asked, his voice soft and sultry. "Make love to you? It will be my great pleasure…" Elrohir slipped his hand inside her shirt, since he'd unbuttoned it when he began this exquisite torture. His hand glided under her half-shift, softly over her ribs and around her back, where it finally rested. Jeren was so attuned to what he was doing; she could even feel the callous on his hands, where sword hilts and bows had rested, along with fingertips gone tough with the pulling of bowstrings. She sighed…

When his hand came back around and rested gently along the curve of her breast, his thumb brushing lightly across sensitive skin, she exhaled sharply and drew away, grabbing the edges of her shirt and pulling it together as she evaded him on unsteady legs.

It was Elrohir's turn to sigh…

"Jeren," he said. "How long are you going to keep this up? Denying us this way?" He was ever so charming, without accusation or anger anywhere in his tone.

"As long as it takes," she replied. "Until your father shows some sign of coming around to our way of thinking."

Elrohir hated that she had that determined timbre to her voice, the one that told him she would not change her mind. But he had to try anyway. Like her, he did not easily take no for an answer.

"It has been two weeks; we only promised him a few days."

"Which prompts me to ask, has Glorfindel spoken to him yet? It was a full week before your father began taking meals with everyone again in the dining hall, and since he finally has, he's not been himself. He has definitely not changed his mind; the looks he gives me when he thinks I do not see…"

"If it makes you feel any better," he said, "he is giving me the very same looks—somewhere between a sad puppy and a stoic child, who has fallen and skinned a knee."

As Elrohir spoke his fingers played with one of the ribbons that held her half shift closed. Jeren frowned. _When had he drawn closer again?_

"He is still playing games with us, Jeren, so I would venture to say that Glorfindel has not spoken to him."

"Why is he waiting?" she asked, her voice finally giving in to the temptation to whine.

"Probably for the same reason you thought it a bad idea in the first place—their prior argument. I think he is merely finding the right time."

"And being an Elf, he has all the time in the world..." This time she sounded exactly like a petulant child.

"As we do not. That is why you should give in to me." His eyes were seductive as his hands ran down her arms and ended up at her waist. "My father will ultimately admit defeat—after he sees how happy and devoted we are to each other."

Ah but Jeren was tempted—tempted beyond what she thought she could endure. Two weeks. Two interminable weeks it had been, with scenes like this one replaying over and over. She'd been tempted to just tell Elrohir to leave her alone, but she found that since they'd almost bonded on the night they told Lord Elrond of their plans, that she'd been unable to go without seeing Elrohir for long. Her urge to be with him had only increased. It had only been her great strength of will that had kept her from giving in as he wanted her to. He was probably right, and his father would come around in the end. But she hated to take that chance, and risk losing the love Lord Elrond had always gifted her with so freely.

"I needs get back to Glorfindel," she said, pushing his hands away and buttoning her shirt. "It is time I get myself to the armory for my afternoon lessons."

"You are wearing yourself out with all this training. And I can see that just moving your arm hurts you."

"Well, there's no help for it. I must work through the pain, Elrohir. If I am ever in battle, the Orc will not stop to ask me if I hurt, or if I wish to withdraw from the fight." She smiled at him, knowing he truly did not want her to ever be in battle again. But the last time they'd discussed it—three days ago, where he had made his true feelings abundantly clear—she had asked him if _he_ was ready to give up fighting. He'd frowned at her, having the question turned back on him, but he'd answered truthfully—he would never be ready to quit battling the dark forces in their land, until they had been beaten. Even still, it appeared that he could not help—consciously or unconsciously—trying to discourage her return to fighting.

"I must go," she repeated.

"When you are finished with Glorfindel, come find me. I would go with you to the healing halls and poultice your arm again. I know it will help, and I am truly surprised that my father has not seen to it himself. I have never known him to be cruel; he's ever been a compassionate healer."

"I could have sought _him_ out," she admitted. "But I find I do not like being alone with him any more—at least not now. Perhaps, once he is over being angry with me—if he ever is—that will change." She nodded, "You are right; the poultice does help immensely. I appreciate your help with this Elrohir, but let's wait until after evening meal. I think that would be best."

Against her better judgment she stepped closer to Elrohir, unwilling to leave without just one more kiss. But instead of kissing her, he simply enfolded her into his arms.

"I love you, you know?" he said into her ear. "You are well worth the wait. I am sorry I keep tempting you, but I suppose it is just my nature. I have found she who I would bond with, and now I want to bond with her." He paused, pushing her away slightly so that his eyes could accentuate what he was telling her. "I will try to be good..."

Jeren laughed then—Elrohir, trying to be good? She supposed there could be a miracle.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The wooden training swords slapped together, the noise deafening to anyone listening, but Jeren was concentrating so hard on the movements she was doing, trying to anticipate what Glorfindel might do next, that she barely heard it.

She had advanced far in the two weeks she'd been sparring with Glorfindel, working both mornings and afternoons, every day of the week. Glorfindel had tried to get her to take one day off, but she would not hear of it, and since she was willing to do the work, he was not averse to teaching her.

She was head-to-toe bruises and bumps, and now had a bruised cut on her left temple that she had gotten when she was supposed to duck, but slipped and, in the process, rose instead. Glorfindel purposely had not missed what he had been aiming for, what she was supposed to be preventing his coming into contact with, and his sword connected with her head. He really hadn't meant to hit her that hard, but hard lessons were not soon forgotten.

She was actually knocked out for several seconds, but the minute she came to, she wanted to resume training. Of course the Arms Master would not hear of it, and he sent her to Lord Elrond for healing, since the skin had been broken. But Jeren simply left with a kerchief held to the wound and did not go to either the healing halls or to Lord Elrond's study. She went back to her room, and then had found Elrohir so that he could stitch her. He was none too happy about it, but he did it.

That night at the evening meal, Glorfindel had made the mistake of praising the neat stitches that Elrond had placed in Jeren's wound, remarking that it probably would not leave much of a scar. He had hoped it would bridge some of the chasm that had opened up between the girl and the Elf lord; ordinarily he wouldn't have mentioned it at all.

Since Lord Elrond was wont to completely ignore her these days, his face was a mask of indifference until he saw the stitched wound. But Jeren watched him when he'd finally seen it, and his disinterest slipped for a few seconds. She could see the concern plainly at first, but he quickly hid it. He merely said, "It wasn't me." Then turning to Elrohir, he said, "I assume you did this?"

"Yes, Father," he said, trying very hard to keep the ironic smile off his face.

Elrond had glanced back at her then, as if he were inspecting the injury more closely. "Very good, son. You will learn to stitch yet."

Lord Elrond had not said a word to her—not since he'd come to her room on that night, two weeks prior.

Glorfindel suddenly called a halt to their session today, pulling his sword out of contact with Jeren's.

"What is it, Arms Master?" Jeren asked. "Did I do something wrong?"

Glorfindel took her sword from her, and then replaced both of them into the rack against the wall. She had been following him closely, so when he turned to tell her something, he almost bumped into her.

"I would talk to you, Girl," he said. "Come, let's sit." He led the way into his office and they sat at the table where Jeren had until recently been studying with Aragorn. He had a mug of water sitting there, which he offered to her first. She didn't want to take something that was clearly meant for him, but in the interest of being agreeable, she took a long drink.

He sipped then, too, and set the cup back down.

"You have much heart, Girl," he started, and for once Jeren could hear empathy in his voice. That scared her—and she suddenly knew she did not want to hear what he was going to say. But she kept quiet. She cast her eyes downward, afraid that when he told her there was no point in continuing her training that she would weep in her heartbreak. When she heard him chuckle, she was confused, so she looked at him again. "You think you know what I will say, do you Girl?"

She nodded, but still did not say anything.

"What I plan to tell you about is not something I would start today. I am not ready. I have something else I must do."

Jeren willed her hammering heart to be quieter. _Surely the Arms Master could hear it, it was so loud._

He shook his head at her obvious worry, but he finally told her what he had planned to say in the first place. "Tomorrow—_not_ today—I would have you bring your sword with you, that we might begin sparring with real blades. That is the only way to judge your progress from now on."

Jeren wanted to hug him! At the very least to shout out her joy! She was not being sent away as untrainable—she was advancing!

Instead she willed herself to calm and said, "Yes, Arms Master."

"And bring your bow as well."

"Yes, Arms Master." Jeren rose as if to leave, but it appeared that Glorfindel wasn't finished.

"And one more thing." Glorfindel got up from his chair and paced a distance from her before he faced her again. "I have been charged by Elrohir to speak to Elrond about your—bonding. I know not if you understand completely what you are in for—"

He looked at something that must have been over her head on the opposite wall, as if he searched for words. "Elrohir is a noble Elf, but he is headstrong and stiff-necked, just as you are. I truly do not know how the two of you will ever get along as a bonded couple."

Jeren wanted to laugh, but she kept her face as still as she could. She merely said, "Yes, Arms Master?"

He looked at her consideringly for a few more moments. "I have had second thoughts about my task—speaking to Elrond about this." Her face must have shown her dismay, because he hurried on, "I still plan to speak to him of it, but I want it understood that I will be subtle in my remarks to him. It truly isn't my affair."

"That is all we can ask of you, Arms Master," she said in reply. "We will be grateful for anything you might say in our behalf."

"Already speaking as a couple," he said, shaking his head again.

"Thank you, Arms Master."

"You are dismissed," he told her quietly. As she turned to leave, she could feel his eyes on her, and the feeling did not lessen even as she made her way out the door.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The next day found Jeren again sparring with Glorfindel, but this time with a real sword. She found she loved the feel and balance of the fine weapon in her hand. It was so different from using the wooden training swords—almost as different as night is to day. Aragorn had gifted her with this sword, when she had finally passed the test for using blades, that would allow her full enlistment into the ranks of the Dúnedain rangers.

She knew the Arms Master was not giving this bout his 'all', or she would have been cut in half in the first few seconds of their fight. And as hard as she was concentrating on her own moves, as well as those she might anticipate from her opponent, she could not tell if he was pleased or not. She felt as if she was doing well, and her speed had increased a great deal. But when Glorfindel called the bout to a halt, he told her exactly what he thought.

"You have improved, Girl, there is no doubt," he said in his soft, steely voice.

"Do you think I've improved enough to pass the Dúnedain's tests for being a ranger again?" she asked hopefully. She still felt as if her movements were not quite as automatic as she'd like, but she was almost there…

Jeren knew it was not her imagination when she saw regret on the Arms Master's face; that was an emotion seldom seen there. "It is my opinion that you most likely will not," he said, although by now his expression was again unreadable. "At present it is your lack of speed, both with the bow and with the sword, that will keep you in their barracks and not on their Orc hunts. Whether you will ever pass their test for re-admittance? I doubt it."

Jeren tried to remove the disappointment from her voice before she made her answer. It took a few moments to regain her composure. Whether she was officially a ranger of the Dúnedain or not, crying in front of the Arms Master was not an option.

"Thank you, Lord Glorfindel," she finally managed to say, and she was glad to notice no telling tremor in her voice.

"That doesn't mean that I believe you will be unable to defend yourself and others eventually, Girl," he said. "I think if you met an Orc in battle right now, and he was armed with one of those short swords they favor, you would have no trouble dispatching him; that is, if you did not panic at the sight of him. It was an Orc that dealt your present injury, and it has been devastating to you. If you let it, thinking in that vein could ultimately allow your opponent to get the better of you." He stared at her for a minute, as if he were unsure if he should say anything more.

"However, you have been dealt even more devastating injuries by them in the past, and you have overcome them. You were a successful ranger for three years. But the remembrance of almost losing a limb to one of them could cause you to hesitate at just the wrong moment. You were battling with them when this wound occurred, and, whether you think it or not right now, meeting another in battle again will be difficult for you. You must harness that fear and turn it into determination—for vengeance if need be. I think you will have to use your mind as well as your body in your battles from now on."

Jeren thought about all that he had said as she prepared for their next bout. Actually being in battle had been an abstract idea—until now. She'd not given thought to her opponents. She'd been trying too hard just to hold her own with Glorfindel to think about who she might battle in the future.

Glorfindel's words—that she'd been dealt injuries by Orcs in the past and had overcome them—made her cringe just the slightest bit. There had still been times, even up until she was last injured, when she could feel that bone-chilling fear of Orcs deep in the pit of her belly. But to give herself credit, she had always been successful in pushing it down, down where she almost couldn't feel it, before any actual battling had occurred.

"Are you ready, Girl?" Glorfindel asked, just before they were to start their next sparring match.

She nodded and set her stance.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren and Elrohir had gone to the healing halls after the evening meal, to poultice her arm for the night. Jeren was sitting on one of the beds. Just as Elrohir had begun mixing the various herbs together to make the paste, Lord Elrond entered the room.

The Elf lord walked over to them and picked up the bowl that Elrohir had been just about to stir, and looked at its contents keenly, then smelled it. He put the bowl back down.

"Leave us, Elrohir," Elrond said.

"But Father—"

"Leave us." The Elf lord had raised his voice just the slightest tinge, but it told the younger elf he would brook no argument.

Elrohir didn't care. "No, I will not leave," he said.

"What do you think I might do, Elrohir?" Elrond asked, clearly annoyed by now. "Poison her? Strangle her? While those concepts might have their merits, I am a healer and would never stoop to such a thing. Leave. Us." The last two words had been punctuated firmly.

To hear his father say such things, much less be thinking them, had Elrohir on high alert. "Father, please—"

"—Elrohir," Jeren interrupted, "he will not kill me. Whatever he has in mind to say will not render me dead. Just go, so that we can get this over with. Please?"

Jeren was not happy with this turn of events, but she knew that Lord Elrond would never hurt her—physically. If she could only get Elrohir to stop arguing with him, he could say what he wanted to say and be done. The anxiety left her all but shivering where she sat, and she chuckled inwardly at herself. _If Lord Glorfindel could know her heart at this instant, he would laugh her out of the armory tomorrow._

Elrohir fleetingly touched Jeren's fingers on his way out. Unlike the past few times he'd been tempted to listen at the door, this time he did not heed his conscience. And it did not take long until he was so angry that it was taking all the restraint he could muster to keep from storming back into the healing halls.

The exchange between the woman and the Elf lord started out pleasantly enough.

Lord Elrond lifted the bowl that Elrohir had been making the poultice in, and took it to a far counter, where he removed two vials from an overhead cabinet and put pinches of each into the mix. He then stirred it all with some water from a pitcher that was standing near the bed where Jeren sat. As he mixed the herbs, he said, "You do not truly think that I meant any of what I said to Elrohir, do you? I was merely trying to get his goat, as it were."

Jeren was beginning to gain a little sense of relief from this small comment of his, not because she'd feared for her life, but because he was sounding like himself again. "No, my lord, I did not think you ever entertained such ideas."

"That is good," he said, gazing into her eyes and smiling. "I love you, Jeren. That has not changed. I am disappointed that you have bonded with my son, but that doesn't mean that I have ceased loving you at all."

"We are not yet bonded, my lord," Jeren answered quietly. "We told you we would give you time."

He looked surprised, so much so that Jeren wondered if he'd simply been fishing, wondering if they'd bonded, but not really knowing—until she'd told him.

"And I am thankful for the consideration, Jeren," he answered, smiling. "But Elrohir seemed so determined; as did you the last time we spoke."

"You are very persuasive, my lord," she answered truthfully.

He looked disconcerted, before he answered, "I am sorry for my churlish behavior. He is my son. I love him. That is my only excuse."

Jeren was trying to be relieved by their discourse so far, but she had a nagging feeling that she'd just told him more than she should have. She could sense his relief; as if he was hopeful that he still had time to talk them out of it. Perhaps if she had allowed him to keep thinking they'd already bonded, they could then do so and he would have been none the wiser. It was too late to pull the words back into her mouth now. She looked downward, hoping to keep her thoughts known only to herself. There had been times when Lord Elrond had the uncanny ability to read her mind, or so it seemed.

Elrond took her arm into his hands, and began bending it, testing its flexibility. "Glorfindel has told me that you are doing extremely well with re-learning the sword." He smeared the paste onto her arm.

"I have advanced to using a real blade when sparring with him."

"That is good. I know you wanted to regain your skill." He took up the roll of bandage from the table near the pitcher and began placing it around her arm. "Do you not think it might be time for you to return to the settlement and reclaim your place with the rangers?"

"Oh, I do not think I'm up to that, my lord," she said. "I would never pass the required tests. Lord Glorfindel has told me such."

"What about your Aunt Elen? Surely you know she must be sick with worry over you, knowing you've been injured all those months ago, but not being able to see you herself? She's a very soft-hearted woman, and it would not be kind to let her continue fretting over you."

Jeren was getting an uneasy feeling about the turn this conversation was taking. "You truly think I should go, my lord?"

He looked at her briefly and then let his eyes rest back on the bandage he was tying. "Yes, I think it would be kind of you to go, so that she can see for herself that you are doing very well."

"I am sure Elladan has told her as much, my lord," Jeren said warily. "I would prefer to continue my training…" her voice trailed off, as she wondered just what he was getting at. But Jeren being Jeren, she quickly decided she was not going to wonder at his intentions any longer—she was just going to flat-out ask him.

"Are you _telling_ me to leave, Lord Elrond?" she asked him, and she knew her voice must have held at least a portion of the hurt she was feeling.

"Of course I am not telling you to!" he assured her. "I am only pointing out reasons why you might wish to go back to the settlement. And I do think some distance between you and Elrohir right now would not be amiss in allowing you to think more clearly about your intentions. It might give you a different perspective."

It was at this point that Elrohir almost burst back into the room. He had held himself in check when his father insinuated that they'd already bonded, but Jeren—unfortunately—had told him they hadn't. But this? It made him want to confront his father himself.

But he didn't do it—he knew Jeren would not appreciate his interference; she preferred to fight her own battles. And fight is exactly what she decided to do…

"If you want me to leave, my lord," she said coldly, "just say so. I will be gone by tomorrow at first light!"

"I truly did not mean to upset you, Jeren…"

"Jeren—yes, Jeren! Not Young One, or Dear One. Jeren! And you profess to love me as you did before? I think not.

"I had hoped that my loving your son would prove to be a blessing in your life, Lord Elrond. I never meant to bring you pain and heartache." She got up from the side of the bed she'd been sitting on, since he had finished the bandaging, and strode toward the door. "Thank you for your kind attentions." Without looking back, she stormed from the room.

And Elrohir was nowhere in sight, having ducked down the corridor when he knew her exit from the healing halls was imminent.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Elrond?" Glorfindel had been searching for the Lord of Imladris for several minutes, having first gone to his study and finding it empty. He'd then ventured down to the healing halls, because if the Elf lord was not working at this time of night in one capacity, he was bound to be working in another.

Glorfindel pushed open the double doors that led into the healing wards, and found Elrond there cleaning the bowl that had just contained Jeren's poultice. "Here's where you are hiding."

"I am not hiding, my friend," Elrond said, as he put the bowl away in one of the cupboards.

He explained to the Arms Master what he'd been doing, and as soon as he was finished, ushered Glorfindel out of the healing halls and back to his study. Elrond opened the door and allowed Glorfindel entrance before him. Elrond went behind his desk to sit in his chair, but Glorfindel kept right on moving and seated himself on the sofa in the far part of the room. Elrond bit his lip to keep from saying anything harsh to his friend. For being an Elf of such basic needs, Glorfindel amazed Elrond every time he insisted on not sitting at Elrond's desk. The straight, wooden chair was Elrond's preferred seating in this room; but Glorfindel never seemed to take the hint.

Being summer, there was no fire in the grate, and three of the windows were open to let in some air. There was a cool breeze blowing tonight, so the room was comfortable as the two Elf lords settled themselves for some conversation.

"Had you come to find me for a particular reason?" Elrond wanted to know.

"Not anything urgent," he replied. "I could sense your unease these past weeks, and I would lend an ear to your trouble, should you have need of one."

Elrond had seated himself in one of the chairs across from Glorfindel, and he placed his elbows on the arms of it, his fingers entwining before his chest.

"I can tell you have much on your mind," Glorfindel said. "Would you speak to me of it?"

"I just did a most inexplicable thing," Elrond admitted. "As I was putting the poultice on her arm for the night, I practically told Jeren she was no longer welcome here."

Glorfindel's eyebrows shot up, and he sat forward, all his attention focused on Elrond. He had nearly been without hope that he'd find an easy entry into this conversation, and his friend had now given him the perfect opening. "And why would you do that?" he asked, his face intent, as if he did not know what troubled Elrond already. "I _thought_ she was beloved by you."

"No need to be sarcastic, friend," Elrond said.

Glorfindel had put that sardonic inflection in his voice on purpose. He would seem suspect if he had not.

"She _is_ beloved by me. But right now, the sight of her calls to mind things I wish not to consider. I do want her gone, and for my own selfish reasons."

Glorfindel sat back, shaking his head. "They must be fair-great reasons."

Elrond was silent for a few minutes; he placed his fingers against his lips as he pondered what he might tell the Arms Master. "I see no other way to say this than to just say it, although uttering the words—" He left that thought hanging, unwilling or unable to finish it. "Elrohir has asked Jeren to bond with him."

He looked pointedly at Glorfindel after he'd made that remark, expecting an incredulous reaction from this news. And Glorfindel did not disappoint him.

His jaw dropped in a most 'un-lordly' fashion, but he looked as though he recovered quickly. As soon as his usual mask was back in place he uttered, almost under his breath, "Your son is a fool." The Arms Master did not need to perform any act for that statement to seem true. He'd thought it for a very long while, and said it as often as he could get away with.

"That is somewhat my reaction," Elrond admitted.

"And this is why you asked Jeren to leave?"

"I didn't exactly ask her to go—but my intention was plain. She isn't stupid. She got my meaning right off, and of course, it made her angry. I just hope it made her angry enough to follow through with it."

"What is to stop Elrohir from simply going with her?" Glorfindel asked. "He will, you know." Glorfindel sat forward in his chair again, placing his elbows on his knees. "The more you try and keep them apart, the closer they will become. You know this is true, Elrond."

"Yes," he said testily, "I know. I cannot fathom why I continue to do these things I know will be ineffective. It seems my every reaction just spurs them closer together."

"I know your concerns," Glorfindel said. "They are the same as with Estel and Arwen. And at the moment, your daughter isn't speaking to you—the letters you send to her are returned unopened, and she certainly does no writing to you on her own. I know that must hurt a father's heart."

"Yes," Elrond said. "It does. But at least I know she is not killing herself."

"Ah, but do you know that, my friend?" Glorfindel asked sincerely. "Just because you do not know of a thing, does not mean that it isn't or hasn't occurred. And children are wont to do just the opposite of what their parents want them to do."

Elrond frowned at his friend. "How would you know so much about children, Glorfindel? You've never been a father."

"Well, no," he answered, "I haven't. But I've been exposed to your offspring from their birth. If I have not picked up a few things from my experiences with them, then I am simple indeed."

Elrond looked so very despondent over the whole thing that Glorfindel had to try some new tactic. He decided to tell the other Elf lord exactly what he thought. It was what he always did in these situations; why would he change now?

_Why?_ He asked himself. But he knew the answer—he risked their very friendship if he probed too deeply.

"Elrond," Glorfindel said, "I would tell you something from my heart, in hopes that it does not anger you, but that it might help you. I think you will not especially like hearing it, but I feel it must be said." He stopped for a moment, looking for some reaction from Elrond. At the other Elf lord's silent nod, he went on, "You can protest and show your disapproval to your children until the end of Arda, but in the end they will do what they will, with or without your approval. If they decide to honor your wishes, you will be forever resented by them. If they do not, you will be the one resenting, and they will break off contact because they do not want to deal with a sullen and embittered father.

"These decisions they are making right now are significant in their lives. I, too, wish Elrohir and Arwen would stick to our kind in search for their mates—but they have not. The ones they have chosen are Human, and like it or not, we cannot change that. No amount of posturing or bellowing by us will change their minds. They will do as they will and we can either accept it or lose them.

"Estel and Jeren. Of all the Humans I know, they would be two of the finest." Glorfindel stopped speaking, trying to read Elrond's reaction to all he had said. Thus far Elrond seemed to be listening, but Glorfindel could not tell in which way he was leaning, but at least he was able to see that Elrond was not getting angry nor considering him meddlesome.

"If you continue on the path you are taking, the cleft that has started between you and they will continue to open until it has widened beyond repair. Whether they choose to be Elves or not, you will have lost them. I know that isn't what you want."

Elrond looked at his hands for a very long while. When he finally looked up into his friend's eyes, Glorfindel had hope that he might have gotten through to him. But Elrond's next words, while they did not douse his hope, did not encourage it, either.

"I will think on what you have said, Glorfindel. You make much sense. Whether I can follow your advice is another thing. My heart seems to have a mind of its own right now."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Elrohir ran up the stairs, two at a time, going to Jeren's room as fast as he could. There were not many Elves about tonight, but the ones that he met, looked after his rapidly fleeing form with surprise. It had been long since either of the sons of Elrond had been caught running through the halls. They had been called down for it so many times when they were younger, that no one expected to ever see them do it again.

But Elrohir had to get to Jeren's room before she did. He had no doubt that if he did not, once she was in there, she would not allow him entry at all. It was either do this, or break the door down later, and no one would be happy if he did that.

He knew she was hot on his heels—he could hear her angry footsteps as she made her way up here, too. But he knew her—she would take his father's words to heart, and have leaving on her mind, and he had to stop her at all costs.

He got to her door and slipped inside, quietly closing it behind him. As usual, either Daeron or Naith had lit the lamps, so he took a few thankful breaths that he need not bother with that, and then walked leisurely outside and sat on the veranda. In less than five minutes Jeren opened the door and stormed in, slamming it loudly after herself. She went to her wardrobe and flung the doors open, not caring when they crashed against the sides. She pulled her pack from the floor of the closet and threw it onto the bed. Then she began pulling her clothes from hangers and shelves, and shoving them into the pack without much care.

"Jeren," Elrohir said, "what are you doing?"

She jumped so badly in startlement that at first Elrohir thought it might have stopped her heart. She had paled and one of her hands flew to her chest, as if she could start it beating again from the outside. "Elrohir!" she said, gasping for breath. "You scared years off my life!"

He grinned and approached her, hoping to not tip his hand and let her know that he'd been spying outside the doors to the healing halls. The easiest way for him to accomplish that goal, was to try to seduce her—again.

"Aw, that was not my intention at all," he said, his voice a caress in itself, and he edged closer to her, his arms going around her. He lowered his face toward hers.

"Not now, Elrohir," she said, as she sidestepped him and shoved more clothes into her pack. She then looked as if something had finally occurred to her, and she asked him, "Why are you here?"

He tilted his head to one side, as if implying that she could not be so dense. "You know why I'm here—to find out what happened while my father was putting the poultice on your arm."

"Go away, Elrohir," she said angrily, as she continued to pack.

He smiled, and quipped, "Is that any way to speak to your betrothed?"

She stopped what she was doing and became very still. "We are no longer betrothed."

This was more serious than Elrohir had imagined. She could not really mean what she was saying. He moved toward her and took hold of her arms, forcing her to look at him.

"What did he say?" The frown on his face was genuine, even if his question was not.

"It matters not," she said. "Our betrothal is off, and as far as I am concerned, I cannot be away from here fast enough."

He shook her slightly, just to get her attention. With his face and his voice reflecting his hurt, he told her, "Whatever he said, you are right, _it_ does not matter. All that matters is that we love each other and will bond soon." He reached toward her pack and fingered a pair of her leggings. "Where are you going and why are you doing this?"

"I am going back to the settlement—tonight. And I am doing it because I do not belong here."

"Please, Jeren, just calm down for a moment; speak to me about what has you feeling this way. Please, don't leave me like this. Do I not deserve an explanation?"

Her shoulders dropped as her anger ebbed. But she knew that if she let the anger go, the hurt would overwhelm her. _Lord Elrond did not want her here. Her worst fears were being realized—the Elf lord no longer loved her._

Elrohir saw his chance and he took it. "Jeren," he said, as he put an arm around her shoulders and led her outside. "Come sit. Tell me what happened that has you reacting this way."

She allowed Elrohir to help her into one of the chairs on the veranda. She did not want to weep, but she could see no way around it this time. This hurt was too great; she wouldn't be able to stop the tears.

She lowered her eyes to look at her hands in her lap. "Your father wants me to leave Rivendell."

"He said that?"

"Not in those words," she said, sniffing, "but he might as well have come right out and said them."

"What _were_ his words?" Elrohir asked quietly, even though he had been there—he knew what his father had said. But he thought if he got Jeren to say them, he could help her purge the hurt of them from her soul.

"At first he asked if I wasn't ready to begin being a ranger again. I told him no. He then brought Elen into the conversation, saying how unkind it was of me to keep her from seeing for herself that I was fine. When I didn't bite on that suggestion, he told me that perhaps some time away from you would be best—gain a new perspective, or some such nonsense!" She looked up at him with swimming eyes. "He wants me gone, Elrohir!"

Elrohir didn't know whether to be happy or not; as she talked her hurt seemed to lessen and her anger to return. He wondered to himself which was easier—dealing with an angry Jeren, or trying to patch the heart of a hurting one. He was ready to handle whichever presented itself—as long as she didn't leave.

As he sat there watching her face, he saw when the anger again subsided and the hurt took over. Just as the crush of the pain hit its zenith, he was up from his chair and on one knee beside her, taking her into his arms and holding her as she cried. She did not weep for long, as was her way. After only a few moments, she sat back a little, looking into Elrohir's face.

"I love you, Elrohir," she said raggedly. "There is nothing that I will ever let come between us—not even your father."

He wanted to crush her to him, let his arms tell her the same, but he felt there was something else he must say. "I know it seems as if he has abandoned you, Jeren. But he has not. Elves' emotions run high, as much as that may seem the opposite to others. Generally we can only experience one at a time, or they would all overwhelm us. Right now he is worrying and heartsick about losing me, but when that subsides, he will remember his love of you, and he will be sorrowful at what he has been putting you through. Please believe me when I tell you this. I would not speak falsely to you…"

Suddenly tired beyond her capacity, Jeren leaned into Elrohir's arms again, letting him hold her for a few moments. She suddenly realized that she had never in her whole life depended on anyone like she depended on him. _Unless it might be his father…_

After her mother had died, she'd had no one to lean on. Certainly Anardil had taken her with him on patrol for a precious short time, but even when she was with her father, his mind was never truly with her—it was with the men that he commanded, or the enemy he was focused on wiping out. So she had learned to rely on herself. And then she had met the twins and Lord Elrond. She had transferred her need to them, especially the Elf lord, and he had accepted it with open arms. But it had truly been Elrohir all along who had cared for her as no one else did. Not Elladan, not Rhyse, no one else. And she had never allowed another to get this close to her.

"I will try to keep that in mind, Elrohir," she finally said. "It will be hard."

"Just get some sleep, and it will seem better tomorrow," he said, his grin just starting to change his face from an expression of doubt to one of hope.

But Jeren got up from the chair abruptly. "No, Elrohir. I must go. I cannot stay another minute here. I feel as if the tension emanating from your father is going to squelch the life right out of me. No…"

She strode into the room and finished cramming her clothes into her pack. As she tied it closed, Elrohir placed his hand atop hers, stopping its progress.

"You are still determined to leave?" he asked, as if his heart might break. "Please do not do this, Jeren."

She looked at him and hated herself for causing him this anguish, but she knew herself—this horribly stifling feeling would not abate while she was still within these walls. She had to get out. "Yes, Elrohir, I do aim to go. Please understand—I am not leaving you, I am leaving all the pressure. I just cannot stand it."

She turned toward the wardrobe and took up her weapons that she always kept leaning against the wall there. As she strapped on her sword, she said, "Please tell Lord Glorfindel what happened, and that I am sorry for abandoning my training like this." As soon as she had finished belting it on, she took her dagger to hand, unsheathing it to check its edge, then shoving it back into its case. She put it into her boot, where she could feel its comforting presence. She placed her bow and quiver next to her pack. When she saddled Two, she would fasten them with her pack correctly.

But Elrohir refused to give up in this way. He couldn't allow her to just enter the wild at night. He would tie her up before he would allow it. He took hold of her arms tightly, so that she knew he was deadly serious. "That is not a good enough reason for you to go running off into the night. Do you want to be killed? Even though we are not yet bonded, I can tell you as fact that your death at this point will kill me. There is no doubt."

She smiled. Elrohir's dramatic bent had always been entertaining, but she knew she was hurting him, so she would not make light of any of his feelings.

"I will not be killed," she said. "For one thing, Glorfindel told me just today that with the progress I have made so far with the sword, I could win a battle with an Orc, were I to meet one. I will keep my eyes and ears open. You know I have no desire to meet with one of the fiends. But I must test myself—find out if this last injury has caused my courage to fail. Better now than later, when I am in battle and have no choice in the matter. Besides, I only plan to ride to the border tonight. I will not cross the river until after first light, if then."

"Well then let me go with you," he said. "It will only take a moment for me to gather my things."

"No, Elrohir—"

"All right then, I will not take anything with me—I'm ready right now."

She let one of her hands trail down the side of his face. "I need this time, Elrohir. I want to spend at least a day—mayhap two—out in the wild, enjoying the quiet and, yes, the chaos. I seek chaos of a different type than I am finding here in this house. I seek the activity one finds if one but looks and listens to the birds and the beasts—the wind rustling through the leaves of the trees. It has been long since I've enjoyed their untamed chorus. Please do not deny me that. You know I will go with caution. If I dawdle about by day, and stay on the Imladris side of the border by night, no harm will befall me. In the last battle I fought, I almost lost my arm Elrohir; I did not lose any of my brains."

She'd watched his face fall as she'd spoken, until at last she could see his quiet but still reluctant acceptance of her plan. She had one more request before she left. "Do not follow me, Elrohir. Promise me…"

He closed his eyes, at first not able to willingly make the promise she sought. He looked down at their joined hands, fighting with himself about swearing this oath.

When he looked at her again, she could see the distress she was putting him through. But if they were ever to survive as a bonded couple, there had to be trust and confidence in the choices they each made. She could not back down, nor did she want to, even though his liquid eyes were begging her to.

"When can I meet you there?" he finally asked.

"You haven't promised yet, Elrohir," she insisted. "Please?"

His head fell back in frustration; he'd hoped that he'd distracted her from the fact that he'd not pledged to leave her alone in the wild, yet he still did not want to give his word about something that terrified him. But he saw no other way, so he finally looked at her again, giving a solemn nod.

"I am coming to the settlement soon, though. I cannot be without seeing you for long. I have not said anything to you, but ever since we almost bonded, I feel this necessity to not have you out of my sight. It has been all I could do not to follow you around like a puppy needing attention. I think it may have to do with our bonding—we have chosen each other and now we must fulfill our fate." He stopped and chuckled, before he went on. "That sounds maudlin even to me; but I am not imagining it or even overstating the emotion. You know me—emotion is not usually something I am willing to discuss at all, so my bringing this up should show you that I am sincere."

"I do understand, Elrohir," Jeren said. "I have felt almost the same, when I would allow myself time to think of anything other than training. This won't take me long—just give me five days, then you can come join me. And Elrohir, I will bond with you then. There is no longer any reason for us to be apart. Whether your father ever agrees that our bonding is rightful or not, I love you and will not let anything else come between us—ever." She became thoughtful for a moment, and then she added, utter seriousness to her tone, "We could bond right now, Elrohir, before I go. I am ready."

He pulled her to him with a fierceness that almost scared them both, kissing her as if it would be their last contact here in the world. He gently held her away from him, and smiling sadly said, "I could never let you go, were we to do that now. I can only imagine this feeling gets worse, instead of better, once we have made love."

She looked at him and smiled, as if she were memorizing his face. "I love you—so much—for letting me do this. Only someone who loves and understands me would even think to allow it. Five days. That is all. Then we will bond and be together always." She turned toward the door, taking a few steps, but Elrohir's hand on her arm stopped her again.

He traced the cut he had stitched the other day with fingers that trembled. "Be wary of the border guards. I am sure they will see you before you see them, which concerns me some, since there is at least one novice on that patrol right now. But you know where they usually station themselves, so keep watch for them; seek them out and let them know of your plans."

"I will, Elrohir. I love you," she said, and resisting the urge to stay and cling to him, she walked away.

Elrohir doused all the lamps and walked back out onto the veranda, where he sat for hours, eventually watching the sun come up.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**A/N: I think maybe no one ever spars with a real blade without plenty of protective gear on, but I decided that since Glorfindel is an Elf, he will be able to prevent, simply by virtue of his race, any severe accident from happening either to himself or to his sparring partner. That's why I didn't bother with helms and padding.**

**Again, many thanks to the reviewers: ****Southern Pride, American Pride, Duck, ******Nell******, ****dr3, Shycoyotegirl, Song in the Woods, Livia09, Sadie Sil, Brandibuckeye, Lady Anne, Teacalm, and Elfinabottle********. A very special thanks again to Sadie Sil, for offering her wise input into this chapter.  
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	22. Chapter 22

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren made her way to the pond, and decided to stay there for the night. She almost had to find a different place, since this one reminded her so much of not only Lord Elrond, and the loss of his love, but of everything else she had lost in her life. She had no memories of her mother here, but she'd mourned for her father in this very same place, on a night very much like this one. Now it felt as if she mourned two fathers…

She didn't really bother with making a camp. There was no need for a fire—she just spread her bedroll out near the bank and stretched out on it. She'd unsaddled Two and the mare was grazing contentedly on the rich, green grass that was now cushioning Jeren from the hard ground.

She tried to think of nothing and just go to sleep. She was so tired. But the Elf lord kept intruding into her thoughts. She seemed to be calling up all her old memories of him, especially from when she was sixteen, and the twins brought her home to him, broken, afraid and degraded.

After her physical injuries were healed, Lord Elrond had spent a great deal of time with her, helping her with terrifying memories from the Orc attack. She was subject to having what the twins had referred to as waking nightmares, that seemed real to her, although they could happen at any time, even in the middle of the day, even when she wasn't asleep. She would go back in time, thinking she was struggling with Orcs in the dirt of the yard, but in reality, she was right in the house, doing ordinary tasks when something would set her off unexpectedly, and the ones she was struggling to free herself from were Elves that were only trying to help her.

Lord Elrond had taken her to a special place for their mind-healing sessions. The room was round and fairly small, taken up mostly by a large, down-filled cushion in the middle of the floor. There were high windows upon the walls, which were made up of many-faceted diamond-shaped panes. The prism effect was fascinating, and Lord Elrond told her it was to help place her into the trance-like state she needed to reach in order for him to help her. She would lie down while he sat there beside her. He would have her speak of that day, over and over again. It was painful for both of them, but he said it needed doing, or she would always be afraid and susceptible to reliving the attack at odd times, when something innocuous might set it off without warning. It had worked. And she knew in her heart that it wasn't just the speaking of her horrific ordeal that healed her.

Lord Elrond always had contact with her in some way during those sessions, usually just his hand resting on her arm—or her forehead—so she knew he had been imparting some mysterious Elven healing to her. The whole thing was uncanny. He would have her recall that day and speak out loud to him about it, as if she were telling a story. He'd instructed her to bring the detailed images of the day to her mind, and as she pictured the cabin on the edge of the woods, both of them—Lord Elrond and her—would slowly come into focus, standing there watching everything as it unfolded, as if it were happening to someone else. As the scene intensified, he would sometimes gather her into his arms and hold her, comforting her, assuring her she was safe and nothing could hurt her as long as she was with him—and nothing ever did.

When they'd first started the sessions, as she recounted the details, she would tell him all the things she'd done wrong as they were occurring, especially how she had involved Jones, the horse she'd had then. She still vividly remembered walking Jones out of the barn, shielding herself from Orcish eyes and arrows by keeping the mare's body between her and the Orcs. Her worst fears had been realized when arrows that should have pierced Jeren's flesh, had killed Jones instead. She had tremendous guilt about the death of her horse. Each time she came to this part of the story, Lord Elrond had interrupted her, to tell her that, as an Elf, he knew that animals were placed in our lives for service to us, and he was sure that Jones had gladly given her life to spare Jeren's. It was the way of nature. And likewise he would stop her when she would chastise herself for some other mistake she thought she had made, and make her see all the things she had done correctly, the things that had saved her from simply being killed.

At first she could not make it all the way through the entire telling. She would get to the part where the Orcs had grabbed her and she was fighting—and losing—and she would become hysterical, causing Elrond to stop the session for the day, so that she could calm down. At first he would try to resume the sessions the very next day, but it quickly became apparent that her mind was not strong enough to for them to proceed so quickly. It took quite a while, but over time, she was able to speak of it calmly, as if it were just a story she was telling that had happened to someone else.

Of course she never forgot that it was her past she was recounting, and she had finally been able to get through the entire thing, from the time she realized the Orcs had invaded the homestead until she woke up in her bed injured, with the Elves surrounding her. She was still repulsed by it all, but the hysteria she'd felt in the past was gone, along with the guilt she felt for allowing the fiends to touch her at all. And Lord Elrond was always just as exhausted as she was at the end of the sessions.

He pronounced her as well as she was ever going to be, and he never subjected her to it again. And she'd never had another waking nightmare either, not even after horrific battles she'd been involved in with Orcs as a ranger.

He had done so much for her—in ways she owed him her very life. She felt confident she would not now be the warrior she was, had he not taken the special care of her mind. When she allowed herself to contemplate it, she knew absolutely that without his healing, she would now be a cowering, terrified shell of a person, who could not even step out of the house by herself.

But now her feelings about him were mixed, and it was most disconcerting. She was angry at him, but at the same time she felt guilty for how things had turned out.

How could she do this to him, after all her had done for her? How could she marry Elrohir, when that very act could take his son from him forever? _How could she do that?_

_But how could she not?_ Elrohir had become as another part of her—indispensable. Priceless. He'd fought for her from the very beginning of their friendship. Whenever she was in any sort of trouble, or sick at heart over something, it was Elrohir who let her lean on him, as much as she ever leaned on anyone. Of course he'd been annoying quite often, but even still, he never deserted her when she needed him. He always had the time, no matter what else he might be involved in. And she would never forget that it had been him who'd fought for keeping her arm, when no one—including his father—thought that it could be saved.

She loved him fiercely. Lord Elrond might as well ask her to do without her own heart, as to do without Elrohir as her life mate.

Yes, tonight she was mourning her loss of Lord Elrond, because it felt as if his love for her had died, and it tore at her heart whenever she would think of it. Even though she didn't want to be, she was angry at him, but mostly, she was deeply saddened by it all.

She settled herself down in her bedroll, her blanket wrapped around her, even though the night was mild. She wished it was Elrohir's arms around her, keeping her warm. But that would come soon. She would go to the settlement and he would join her; in less than a week they would be wed.

She closed her eyes, determined to think about that for awhile.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Elrond reached the door to his bedchamber, but did not enter at first. He glanced across the hall to Arwen's old room, the one that Jeren now claimed. There was no light showing beneath the door. She must be asleep. He prayed that she was alone in there.

He opened his door and proceeded into his own room, and immediately shed his robes, hanging them up as he always did. _Old habits—they do die hard_.

The lamps had been lit already, thanks to Daeron, he assumed. He got himself ready for bed, but rather than settling down to rest, he went out onto his veranda and seated himself at the table there. The night was warm and clear, the stars glittering on their velvety indigo backdrop like millions of tiny diamonds scattered across the sky.

He hadn't felt so lost and confused since the last time this had happened—when Estel had come to him, asking for Arwen's hand. That was some time ago, but the feeling was the same.

The foreboding for his son almost overwhelmed him, even though he knew this situation with Elrohir was not near as dire as the one in which his daughter was featured. She was lost; he knew it without a doubt. Whether Estel fulfilled his task or not, Arwen was lost to him and Celebrian. It was just as Glorfindel said tonight; no matter his protestations or posturing, Arwen was going to do what she would. He had no doubt that Estel would hold to his end of the bargain; he was nothing if not noble. But his daughter was in love, and whether or not she could wed the ranger, she would tie herself to him to such an extent that she would fulfill her choice—she would choose Humanity, just so she could shadow his life, whether Estel ever agreed to bond with her or not. She came from a long line of hard-headed Ellith. She would get what she wanted—one way or another.

And therein lay the crux of the problem; the thing that kept him from his rest every night. One particular hard-headed Elleth—Celebrian.

What would he tell her when he arrived in Valinor with none of their children? At this point, he felt that those odds were great. But even if Elrohir and Elladan eventually sailed, Arwen never would—Elrond knew it as if it had been seared permanently in his heart. And he would have failed in his promise to his wife.

Of course he knew when he'd made that promise, that he shouldn't have done it. He was an Elf, but he had no control over the future—no say in anyone's destiny. How could he have promised that he would see to it that his children chose to stay Elfkind? He remembered it as if it were yesterday. They had been right here on this veranda...

_Elrond and Celebrian had been outside on the veranda just off their bedchamber. This porch was larger than most of those off the other rooms in the house, since it adjoined one of the master suites. Celebrian sat on a sofa in the middle of the tiled floor, holding Elrohir to her breast. Elrond stood nearby, looking out over the valley, showing the newly born Elladan the beauty of Imladris for the first time. _

"_And see, Elladan," he said in a quiet voice, pointing a finger out over the land that he loved, "if you look very far in that direction, you can see glimpses of the river. The Bruinen, it is called. Loud water…" His son raised a tiny fist, and Elrond captured it in his own large hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing it. He loved being a father, even though he'd only been one for less than a day._

_Celebrian had roused him early that morning, her labor already progressed. She had lain abed for hours without waking him, because she knew she had hours to wait. As her healer he'd told her exactly what to expect with the coming births. _

_But only a short time after she'd awakened him, she had given birth to Elladan, followed half an hour later by his brother, Elrohir. They'd been beautiful and screaming at the tops of their lungs. Music to a father's ears._

_After a few hours of well-earned rest, Celebrian had risen and come out here to feed their sons, and Elrond was basking in the glow of happiness—he had two children. Two strong sons, to lead, to guide, to love._

_He looked away from Elladan for a moment, glancing back at his wife, and was appalled. She was crying as she fed their youngest. He hurriedly placed Elladan into his cradle inside, and then went to his wife, sitting down beside her._

"_What is it, love?" he asked her. "What has placed tears on what should be a happy face?"_

_She gazed at him, but instead of saying anything, she looked back to the baby and cradled Elrohir's tiny head as he fed at her breast. "They are so beautiful, Elrond," she finally said. "So beautiful and so perfect. I love them both so much already. I was thinking about their lives—how before we know it, they will be crawling about, then walking and running. Sooner than we think is possible they will be grown." She broke into a sob…_

_Elrond put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her to him, as well as he could with her holding the child, trying to comfort her, but he truly did not know what to say. How could she be thinking of them being grown? They were only hours from her womb. He decided it must be motherhood, and the changes that had been brought by it to her body. She was tired and obviously a little mixed up. He smiled…_

"_All is well, my love," he said. "Those things are a long way off. Do not dwell on them now. Dwell on the happiness of holding an infant, feeding him, loving him. Do not age him centuries in seconds…"_

_She laughed and hiccupped, but looked at him. "I know it is foolish," she said, "but I cannot help it. I worry so about them growing up, becoming adult…"_

"_And why would that worry you, love?" Elrond asked. "It is the natural order of things, and as I've already said, a long way off." Elrond looked at her, but she was gazing at Elrohir again, so he took her chin in his fingers and guided her face back toward his, so that he could look into her beautiful blue eyes. "Celebrian?" he asked again…_

"_I fear The Choice, Elrond," she said, her eyes glistening with tears._

_Confusion furled his brow. "What do you mean, love?"_

"_Our children will have a choice, just as you and Elros did. I have had these children, brought them into this world; I will watch them grow and thrive. And I do not wish to do that, just to have them make the wrong choice when they are older. I could not bear to watch them die, Elrond, as you had to watch your brother do."_

"_How do you know that will be their choice? He asked sensibly. "They could choose to remain Elves, as I did. Why do you look to trouble, where none exists?"_

"_Can you promise me it will not happen?" she asked him. "Can you pledge to me here and now that I will not have borne these children in vain; that they will not make the wrong choice when The Choice is to be made?"_

_Elrond could have waxed philosophical, telling her that there was no wrong choice, but he knew what she meant, and he also knew it would not incur her favor to point this out. One might have thought that Celebrian's mention of his brother could have brought Elrond ill feelings, and while he still missed Elros acutely at times, he'd long ago made peace with his twin's decision. But he wondered if he could ever do so again, should any of his own children make the same choice that Elros had._

_Yet he knew how influential he could be—and she as well—and if they started on the children as younglings, pointing out the 'correct' choice, they would have nothing to fear. The children would choose to stay with their parents. What possible reason would they choose otherwise? They were not his brother, they were his children. Even though he'd had no influence on Elros' decision to become Human, he felt sure in his ability to sway his offspring._

_And now he would ease his wife's mind in the matter. After all, none of it was her doing, even though it was not his doing either; but it came with him to their marriage, so it was up to him to lessen her worry. "I promise, Celebrian," he finally said. "I promise. Our children will remain Elfkind; I will see to it."_

_He glanced at his wife again, with her head on his shoulder, and found her asleep. He held her closer, cradling Elrohir, too. _

_Had she heard his promise? He didn't know, but he'd had every intention of holding himself to it, whether she did or not._..

Yes, he had uttered those words, made that promise. And he was failing to live up to it, abominably. He'd already lost one child, and another was well on his way to his death, even though it wasn't 'the choice' that would ultimately claim him.

And now Celebrian was in Valinor, healthy once more, he sincerely hoped. She had been so ill when he'd taken her to the Havens, he had prayed unceasingly for her cure once she reached her destination. He knew she still lived; in fact their bond seemed stronger as more time elapsed. The news about their daughter would break her heart, as it broke his, when he dwelled on the time when he would be forced to tell Celebrian about Arwen. He only hoped his wife would forgive him for not making good on his promise.

He let the memory fade from his thoughts. He needed to think about Elrohir now. He would think about Arwen some other time. He was afraid Arwen was a lost cause, but he would continue to try and change her mind, when he could do so without alienating her, as it seems he had managed to do so far. Right now he had to consider Elrohir, and the present situation with this son that he loved.

Elrohir. He'd always been a handful, but was a strong and loving handful. He'd made many mistakes in his life—but who hadn't, when it came to that? Was this a mistake? Was choosing Jeren as a wife the wrong thing for his son to do?

As he thought about that, he asked himself something: who was he to try and answer that question? That was something Elrohir must decide.

But Elrond knew the consequences of making such a rash decision.

But so did Elrohir. He knew and he accepted. Elrond was not so sure he could accept such an outcome. Could the result be different than what he feared? Yes, he supposed that it could. But the chances… That is what scared him.

Jeren. He'd been so fearful and angry, as well as bent on having his own way, that Jeren had gotten lost from his thoughts. He'd truly ignored her existence, except to almost insist that she leave. That thought humbled him, but after only moments, he smiled to himself as he allowed her to ghost through his mind. Jeren. Headstrong, determined—but loving.

He'd known her mother. Jennah had been much the same as her daughter, but with a more feminine twist. He'd once feared his sons might take a shine to her, but she'd made no notice of them, that he could see. She'd had eyes for Anardil from the moment she saw him. But Jeren… What about Jeren?

From all indications the two of them truly loved one another. How would he have felt had Celeborn and Galadriel been against his union with Celebrian? He frowned, shaking his head. He would not have handled it with the grace that Elrohir exhibited so far. Elrohir was trying to make a life decision, one that his father was opposed to, but instead of getting angry and lashing out, he had been trying to have patience, ease his father into acceptance, instead of trying to bend his will in some other way—as he, himself, had been trying to do with the two of them.

_Ah Celebrian, I need you here,_ he thought. _You could help me sort this out. There is no doubt in my mind that you would have loved Jeren; and yes, it would have terrified you that Elrohir loved her. _

But Elrond thought that, despite the promise that he'd made to himself and his wife, Celebrian would have accepted this situation with Elrohir and Jeren with much more serenity than he had. She would have talked to them both, just as he had, telling them of all the pitfalls and misery which might beset them, but he thought that, in the end, Celebrian would have given them her blessing. They were in love, and that did not seem to be something that could be changed. Celebrian would have seen their love for one another and would have been unable to hold out against it.

Jeren was steadfast and hardheaded in pursuing the things that she wanted, but she never wanted anything frivolously. The things she sought were always things that she genuinely believed she required. And truthfully, Elrohir was exactly the same way.

He suddenly realized he'd been fighting the inevitable. They were alike in ways he'd never thought about. Two of a kind, meant to be together. They had differences enough that would see them through the pitfalls of marriage, each lending their strengths, and also their disparities, to making their union a strong one.

Elrond got up from his chair and went back inside. He put out all the lamps that had been lighting the room and got into his bed, thankful for the soft place to lie. Being angry and sullen took much energy, and he was glad that it was behind him. In the morning he would seek them both and tell Jeren she need not go away. He didn't want her to, really. Now that he'd thought this situation through and allowed himself to feel something other than fear for his son, he realized that he missed her. He'd pushed her to the very back of his mind, feeling the need to think more about his son than her. But he'd been wrong. He always loved having her here—with him.

He would tell them that he would bless their union and accept whenever they would bind to one another. He would offer a rite, if they would have it. There would be peace again.

He smiled…

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren was up before the sun the following morning and had saddled Two and had her gear stowed on the horse's back in no time. She and her mare climbed up the valley wall on the narrow paths, twisting and turning with steep grades, and within an hour she was at the rim. The Bruinen was living up to its name, rushing by loudly in the near distance. Jeren knew this was one of the places that the border guard usually staged their patrol, and as Elrohir had predicted, they intercepted her before she had even so much as glimpsed one of them, because they blended so well with the brush and trees.

"Mae govannen," the first Elf said in greeting.

"Mae govannen, Saeldur," Jeren replied. She knew this Elf; she had just started training when Saeldur was completing his, so he had been one of the senior trainees who had sparred with her several times.

Two others joined them, dismounting, so Jeren did likewise. She also knew Feredir, but did not know the other Elf. Feredir placed his hand over his heart in acknowledgment of their meeting, but Saeldur introduced the other Elf to her. "This is Locien," he said.

Jeren bowed her head slightly at him, and then she proceeded to tell them of her plans.

"I am out here reinforcing my training," she began. "I was injured several months ago, and since my injury was severe, Lord Glorfindel has been overseeing my training. I intend to stay in this general area for the next two days, but after that I will ride to the Dúnedain settlement."

"That is well," Saeldur said. "Would you like one of us to accompany you?"

Jeren shook her head immediately. "No, that will not be necessary. I would enjoy the solitude on friendly land, although I do plan to venture across the river at various times. I will return here well before nightfall."

"Very well, Jeren," Saeldur said. "We will leave you to yourself."

Jeren thanked them all and remounted Two, and without a backward glance, she crossed the river. It was not deep here, so she and Two were on the trail leading away from Imladris in a very short while.

"This does not sit well with me," Saeldur said, as he gazed after the woman.

Feredir frowned in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I do not feel right leaving someone newly back from injury alone as she travels the wild, especially if the injury was as severe as she claimed. I've never known her to slack, so I would assume it was at least as bad as she was telling. Probably worse." His Elven eyes continued to watch as Jeren made her way beyond the river. "Locien, follow her, but stay out of sight. Feredir, go back to the armory and ask Lord Glorfindel should we leave Jeren to her own devices. We will abide by what he decides."

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Elrohir came out of his reverie when he heard someone knock on the door to Jeren's room. He stretched, not feeling the need to invite anyone in. After all, it wasn't even his room. He was still on her veranda, not having moved an inch since Jeren left last night.

The knocking persisted for a few moments, but then the door opened slowly. He heard it all without bothering to look. Whoever it was would make himself known—or not. He truly did not care.

But he got the surprise of his life when it was his father's voice that greeted him.

"Where is Jeren?" the Elf lord asked, by now standing beside his son.

Elrohir was angry at his father. It was his fault that Jeren got it into her head to leave by herself and go back to the settlement. He felt no need to answer him at first, but when his father insisted, he had no reason to be kind.

"I am surprised that you care enough to even ask that question."

Elrond sat down in the vacant chair at the table. "I suppose you talked to her this morning?"

"No, Father, I talked to her last night—just before she left."

Elrohir could see that this news shocked his father, which surprised him, since he knew it was what his father wanted.

"I was hoping I could prevent her departure," he said thoughtfully. He didn't say anything for a moment or so, but then he added, "She went with a full escort, I am assuming?"

Elrohir looked at the Elf lord with something near to contempt. He did not feel the need to inform his father of Jeren's plans to stay on Elven land until the sun came up. _No, let his father stew a bit._

It took him a moment to harness his anger, so that he did not blurt the quick response that he wanted to deliver. He looked away, back out toward the valley. "You assume wrong."

Elrond stood. "You mean you let her leave here last night—alone?" His voice had risen with his alarm.

Elrohir got to his feet even faster than his father had and confronted him angrily, "I _let_ her go?" he asked contemptuously. "For one thing, one does not _let_ Jeren do anything—she does what she wants to. You know that." Despite his earlier attempt to stifle the urge to disrespect his father, he had done it anyway, but this time, he felt that the Elf lord deserved it. For once in his life he did not care if his father took exception to his attitude. "And she did not leave to get away from _me._"

They both turned when they heard someone clear his throat at the door. It was Daeron, apparently with some sort of message for Lord Elrond.

"Excuse me, my lord," he said, as he made his way further into the room, "but Glorfindel is in your study with a member of the border guard. They evidently have something they need to discuss with you."

Elrohir smiled, but he did not share his thoughts on this turn of events with his father, he merely cut in front of him to get out the door.

Again Elrohir found himself running down the halls of the Last Homely House, wanting to learn from the border guard if his plan had worked itself out. Elrond and Daeron were right behind him, but walking instead of running. As soon as he was within shouting distance, Elrohir hailed Glorfindel, who was standing with Feredir in the open doorway of Elrond's study.

Elrohir clasped Feredir's wrist in a welcoming handshake. "It's good to see you again friend."

Feredir returned the greeting, replying, "Likewise, Son of Elrond." They were good friends, and the Elf often called both him and Elladan that title interchangeably, especially at first meeting, when Feredir wasn't sure which of the twins he was talking to.

Elrohir went on, as if neither Glorfindel nor his father was even there. "Have you see Jeren?" he asked the border guard breathlessly.

"I have," Feredir replied. "Saeldur was unsure whether she should be out in the wild alone after having endured injury—one that needed the Arm's Master's training to set to rights—so he sent Locien to follow her unawares, and me to Lord Glorfindel for further orders concerning her."

The smile on Elrohir's face told of his relief. Glorfindel turned to him, obviously wanting an explanation.

Elrond sent Daeron with Feredir in tow to the kitchens, to see about getting some food for the border guard's breakfast. He ushered both Glorfindel and Elrohir further into his study and shut the door.

"It seems that Jeren took my suggestion to heart, Glorfindel," Elrond said.

"Suggestion…" Elrohir said derisively. "Is that what you are calling it?"

Had Elrohir been in the right frame of mind, he would have seen the remorse clearly on Elrond's face. As it was, the Elf lord ignored his son's remark, telling Glorfindel, "She left last night—alone. What a stroke of luck that she told the border guard of her plans."

"It was no stroke of luck," Elrohir said, his face still hard. "I told her before she left to make sure she sought them out, because I feared for her safety otherwise. And it was not a lie I told her—Locien is a novice on the patrol, and is apt to shoot first and ask questions later. I am just happy to have news of her." He sat on the corner of his father's desk. "I had hopes that they would react to her plans exactly as they have. It eases my mind to know that they are following her when she isn't on Elven soil."

"As long as they do not allow her to catch them at it," Glorfindel put in. "Her past experiences keep her wary in the wild like few Humans I know. If she detects them, she will suspect a trap, Elrohir, and that will do you no good, if you plan to stay in her good graces."

"I will take my chances with that right now, Glorfindel," he replied. "Oh, and by the way, Jeren wanted me to tell you that she regrets abandoning her training, but knew when I explained the reason for her leaving, you would understand." He'd started out looking at Glorfindel as he made this statement, but the last part of his comment was said as he looked directly at his father.

Glorfindel held up his hands, as if surrendering—or perhaps as a mediator—it was hard to tell which until he spoke. "I would stay out of the middle of this, if the two of you would not mind." And with that he left, closing the door decidedly behind him.

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Jeren turned in her saddle, sure that someone was watching her. She'd had this eerie feeling all morning, really, and had been unable to shake it. As she looked behind her she scanned the brush and trees amidst the rocks and boulders, looking for anything amiss—a pair of eyes, perhaps? But nothing. She shrugged her shoulders, deciding it must be a small animal; a fox or deer that wanted to go undetected, but that was keeping wary watch on her.

It was near midday, so she decided to stop for a small meal and a rest in some shade; do some of that soaking in of the chaos of nature that she told Elrohir she longed for last night. She found a likely tree to rest under and took her saddlebag containing the food she'd brought with her. She'd dropped by Rivendell's well-stocked kitchen last night on her way out, and had gotten provisions for a few days, and now she sat down to take advantage of them.

She pulled out some soft bread and a little cheese, which had both been wrapped in cloth, along with an apple and settled down to eat. As she sat there, she let her senses free, listening intently and even scenting the air, still having the nagging sensation that someone watched her every movement. Yet she wasn't afraid that it might be Orcs, not this close to Rivendell's border, nor in the middle of a beautiful, sunny day.

And then she heard it; just the quietest whisper of sound that didn't belong with the others. She searched her mind for what made such noises, and finally came up with the answer: Elves.

It had been as if cloth brushed past the leaves of a low bush or small tree, just barely a sound at all, but one she had learned to listen for as she'd been on training missions with the Elves of Imladris. It couldn't be a seasoned tracker, for a mature Elf, long on patrols, did not make such mistakes. She kept her eyes slitted, so that for the most part, if anyone was looking at her, they would think her asleep. But she was keeping watch, looking for any sign of movement, listening for that sound again.

And before long she was rewarded, when she heard the same noise, and looked up in time to catch a glimpse of her stalker. Locien, the Elf she'd met just this morning was squatting beneath an oak just opposite her. He was well-camouflaged, blending in to the leaves and twigs well, but still discernible, if one were looking for anything amiss. She mightily hoped he was more careful when he was tracking Orcs.

Well, his game was up, and she decided to confront him.

"I know you are out there, Locien," she said in a normal voice, knowing he could hear her well, even though he was several feet away. "You might as well come out and join me. I have extra bread and cheese."

Nothing happened at first. The breeze still fluttered the leaves occasionally and she could still hear the river as it made its way along its banks, but Locien did not reveal himself.

"Locien."

She'd called his name again, waiting for some sort of response. Still getting no answer, she said in a warning tone, "Do not make me come over there and pull you out by your collar. I see you plainly; you're right over there," and she finished by pointing her index finger precisely in his direction.

After a few more moments of waiting, she was rewarded when the Elf came through the brush where she knew he had been hiding. His face was stony as he made his way over to stand beside her.

"Why do you not sit?" she asked kindly, patting the ground beside her, knowing she'd hurt his male pride. "Have a meal with me?" She held out a slice of the bread that she had, topping it with one of her slices of cheese.

He took it from her and sat beside her, murmuring his thanks. After he'd taken a few bites, he asked, "How did you detect me? I know I was careful."

Jeren decided this must be one of the Elves who had started out in the stables or even the house, as a servant, perhaps helping Erestor in the household accounts, or maybe helping Daeron in his endeavors. New recruits for the force came from differing sources, since there had been no Elves born in Imladris since Arwen's birth. Elves got bored doing the same things day in and day out, millennia at a time with no change, and from time to time would adjust their tasks, as it were. Perhaps Locien was more suited to grooming a horse than being out in the wild on one.

"I cannot apologize for spotting you; it is my training. I have found that Imladris is the best place for that."

"Yes, but, you are a—" he said, biting off the last word of his sentence.

"—_just_ a woman?" Jeren asked, with a little sarcastic bite to her tone.

"A Human," Locien finished, reluctantly. "I was found out by a Human." The Elf looked so befuddled and embarrassed that Jeren almost wanted to laugh.

But she couldn't because she was admonishing herself for jumping to the conclusion that it had been her sex that bothered him the most, not her race.

"I was attacked by Orcs when I was younger, Locien," she said. This was the first time she voluntarily gave this information to anyone, except Rhyse, and Rhyse had asked her about it outright. It didn't seem quite so hurtful to speak of, as time went on. "That makes me extra vigilant in the wild. That's why I was able to find you. I learned woods craft first from my father, but the most important lessons I learned concerning survival in the wood were from the Elves of Imladris. And having Elves as teachers is very important to a Human—otherwise she would not know what it sounds like to try and track an Elf. You leave no footprints and the barest whisper of clothing against a limb is pretty much the only way I could ever detect an Elf when he was stalking me."

"I still have much to learn," Locien said, a small half smile adorning his lips. "I suppose I've been overconfident in my abilities."

"Well, it is better to find that out in the relative safety of daylight in the woods, rather than alone in the darkness, when it could really go wrong."

He nodded in agreement. "And nothing negates the fact that I've been bested by a Human. You do not suppose we could keep this quiet, do you?" he asked her sincerely.

She looked at him, a smug smile on her face. "Not likely, Locien. I plan on letting it be known loud and clear that I do not appreciate being tagged after by anyone, especially after I told Saeldur that I wanted to be alone."

Jeren began to gather up her supplies and put them back into her saddlebags. "Since it is now obvious I do not need watching, I suppose you will go back across the river now?"

"No, I will not," he said in a straightforward way. "I have my orders, Jeren. I cannot doubly fail by leaving you alone now."

"So, what exactly were your orders concerning me?" she asked, not sure he would even answer.

"I failed at the second part of them—being undetected, but I will not fail at the most important part: following you, until you either cross the river back to the Imladris side, or one of the others finds me to give further orders."

It was just after noon by this point, so Jeren decided she might as well head back. She didn't relish having a bodyguard. She would try and think of some way to slip past the border Elves tomorrow. Just being out in the natural world today had already done her much good. She would cross the river back to Imladris and camp somewhere near the bank. Maybe hunt up some supper for herself and cook it. But mostly, just lay back and rest.

She'd been hard at training these past several weeks and was surprised that she'd not even thought about it once today. She had stopped earlier and had removed the bandage and poultice that Lord Elrond had applied to her arm last night, and it made her blush to think that Locien had watched the entire process, including her removing her tunic and shirt to do it! Well, she had been covered, but she hated the thought of some male watching her as she moved about in her small clothes. _When would these people realize that she could take care of herself?_

"Well, come along, then," she said quietly. "We might as well go back. I have no intention of having Elves trailing after me, when the point of this trip is to see how well I can do on my own." She finished gathering her things and repacking her saddlebags and then the two of them left for Imladris.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**A/N: Many, many thanks to the reviewers so far:****** heavenslilagl420, Southern Pride, American Pride, Duck, ******Nell******, ****dr3, Shycoyotegirl, Song in the Woods, Livia09, Sadie Sil, Brandibuckeye, Lady Anne, Teacalm, and Elfinabottle********.**  
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	23. Chapter 23

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

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Jeren crossed the river and found a nice place to camp along its banks on the Imladris side. She felt sure that Locien was dogging her trail, but she'd thought better of turning him in to Saeldur as a failure at tracking her. She knew if she'd gone to Saeldur complaining of them infringing on her privacy, and he still deemed it prudent to keep track of her, that he would be the one following her next. She decided it was better to have an inexperienced Elf acting as bodyguard than a seasoned warrior determined to keep watch over her every movement. If all went to plan, she could slip past Locien tomorrow sometime and the others would be none the wiser. As green as the Elf was, she shouldn't have that much trouble evading him.

She made her small camp, and then decided to hunt for her supper. She didn't want to take down a rabbit, because it was too large for her needs. She supposed she could share it with her Elven guards, but she wanted to be alone, and she knew that they'd try to convince her to sit at their fire were she to approach them. She didn't want to seem unfriendly, but company just didn't sound appealing to her right now.

Keeping her eyes open for small game, Jeren came upon a covey of quail, but as luck would have it, she flushed them out before she actually saw them. As soon as she'd recovered from the scare that their sudden flight had given her, she spotted a squirrel.

Taking down a quick, sly animal such as this would require some skill. She'd been practicing with her bow for only a few days, and left-handed at that. But she had been able to hit the target squarely after a time, so she thought she would be able to hunt. What had her most concerned was the care with which she still had to aim. Drawing her bow was in no way automatic at present. She had no speed at all with it any more, at least not yet.

She hid herself from the squirrel's view as well as she could, and still leave herself ample room to draw the bow and release a shot. The little animal was perched on a limb about twenty feet away, but the angle above her head was difficult, and she missed her mark when she shot. But she was not about to give up. If this was the squirrel's regular territory, she knew he would return, if she only had patience. After more than twenty minutes the squirrel did come back, and unfortunately, sat on the same branch.

This time she took great care with her aim, ignoring the pain in her arm as she drew back the bowstring. She let out her breath, counted to three, rechecked her aim and fired. The poor little squirrel had not known what hit him.

She gathered him up and took him back to her camp, preparing the little body and then rinsing her hands in the river. Before long, she had the squirrel skewered on a stick and hanging a short distance over her fire. It was charring the meat, but the inside would be tender and juicy when she finally decided to eat.

As soon as the squirrel was done, she had second thoughts about company. So she said out loud, "Locien, if you're still with me, approach my fire and I will share what I have."

Nothing. He didn't answer and he didn't come out. She decided he was either not there or was trying to improve his woods craft by evading her completely while keeping a close eye on her from afar.

She shrugged her shoulders and sat down to eat.

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"You had no trouble tracking her?" Saeldur asked Locien.

"None," he replied. And that had been the truth; he'd tracked Jeren just fine. The fact that he'd let her catch him at it still stung his pride.

The Elves of the border patrol had reassembled in a small clearing they used as their base. There were wooden enclosures throughout the border region for the Elves to take shelter in during foul or cold weather, but they didn't take advantage of them on nice evenings such as this. It was quite dark now, and they sat at their fire with two rabbits roasting on spits above it.

"Good," Saeldur said.

Then Feredir took up the speech, "Keep tracking her until she is back at the settlement, and then you will return here. Those were Lord Glorfindel's orders. He says she is much improved and can probably hold her own, but since she is favored by the Lord of Imladris, we daren't let anything happen to her."

None of them were afraid that Jeren might venture past the border tonight; she might be Human, but they all knew she wasn't stupid, Locien in particular; but he said nothing about the lesson he'd learned at her hands earlier in the day.

As soon as the rabbits were done, they took them away from the fire and distributed the meat. They ate quietly for several minutes, when Locien asked, "Do you know what happened to her?" The other two Elves looked at him questioningly, and he added, "Her injury, I mean."

Feredir chewed thoughtfully for a moment, and then answered, "She is one of the Dúnedain and, against their traditions, they admitted her into the ranks of their rangers. On one of their Orc hunts she was badly injured. One of her arms was almost completely severed."

"I am surprised that their healers would have gone to the trouble of saving her arm," Locien said. "They do not have much skill and usually that is their preferred treatment, is it not?"

"Yes," Feredir said. "But I suppose she proves that it is indeed fortuitous to have high-ranking friends. Elrohir returned her here to his father, and the Lord performed delicate healing on her arm. Lord Glorfindel said she has trained tirelessly in order to regain her place with the Dúnedain. I suppose that is where she is going next—back to the rangers to see about rejoining them. "

"What else do you know about her?" Locien asked. Jeren had told him herself that she'd been attacked by Orcs, but he was very curious about this woman he'd been trailing all day.

"Is it important?" Saeldur asked. "You need not know your quarry to track it." He smiled in a knowing way at Feredir.

"It is only important because she's very good in woods craft," Locien said honestly. "You would not believe how close I came to discovery more than once today."

Feredir and Saeldur had both known Jeren when they were finishing their training for the Imladris force. She was just starting out when they were learning the final lessons in their education as warriors. And they also knew how Locien was having a difficult time in learning all he needed to know about woods craft and tracking, as well as watching without being seen.

"She was attacked by Orcs and left for dead," Saeldur said. "The sons of Elrond came upon her with a patrol from Imladris, and they brought her here for their father to heal. She had been badly hurt in the attack, and it took months of healing to make her right again. The Lord thought she would benefit from learning self-defense, so he asked the Arms Master to accept her with the new trainees at the time."

"She was already somewhat versed in weaponry—very much so for a Human girl," Feredir said, taking up the story. "Did you know Anardil?" At Locien's negative response, Feredir finished, "He was her father, a Dúnedain ranger, and he had been training her himself, when she was younger and when he had the time. I suppose she either did not know enough by the time they beset her or had been swamped by too many, for the Orcs to do such damage to her.

"But she was a game little girl, no slacker, and a hard worker. That was good, because she was resented by the others at first, because they feared she would be shown preference. But the Arms Master does not show preference, and he did not in her case, even though she had great favor with the Lord of Imladris. Against the odds, she excelled. She's even better at woods craft than some Elves I know." His ironic smile was reflected in Saeldur's expression, who had a knowing grin on his face as well.

Locien did not miss the slight that Feredir had delivered, but neither did he want to rise to his baiting. He merely said, "You think I should quit? Go back to the house?"

Feredir had not meant to insult Locien quite so overtly, although he was beginning to think that the Elf might be better off inside, than outside in the wild. "I did not mean that the way that you took it, Locien. I merely am advising you to be at your best when tracking her. If she did not find you out today, then you do show promise. I would not advise you to quit just yet."

Saeldur added, trying to further reduce the sting of their words, "There is no shame in admitting that you are not cut out for a particular task. If this isn't what you would aspire to do, then do not do it. That is all we are saying."

Locien accepted the other Elves' words at their face value. He knew he was not naturally born to be in the wild, not like some Elves he knew. Certainly his two comrades were better suited to this endeavor than he was. But this conversation gave him new purpose in tracking Jeren tomorrow—and without being seen or heard.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Elrond had looked for Elrohir in several places throughout the house. His son had not come to their evening meal, nor had Glorfindel seen him. He was not in the library, where he'd been several times during the past few weeks whenever Elrond had sought him. Nor was he in his own room. Elrond had one more place to try, and then he would give it up as a lost cause. He opened the door to Jeren's bedchamber and stepped inside, closing it behind him. The room was lit by a single lamp tonight, but he could plainly see Elrohir out on the veranda. He walked outside and stood by his son, who was sitting in the darkness as still as a statue.

At first the Elf lord thought Elrohir might be resting, but finally his son moved his head slightly, allowing his eyes to meet his father's. The younger Elf sat slouched in the chair, one elbow upon the arm, the fingers of that hand held against his lips, as if he were warning himself against saying something untoward.

"Elrohir?" Elrond said, waiting for some sort of response.

It took a few moments, but Elrohir sat up in the chair, placing his elbows upon the arms and sitting forward. He still did not say anything.

"Do you mind if I sit with you?" Elrond asked, trying not to sound impatient.

Elrohir shook his head, gesturing to the other chair with one of his hands.

"I've been looking for you. When I was unsuccessful, I thought you might have decided to go and find Jeren after all," he said. After waiting several moments for some comment from the younger Elf, he finally said, the question plainly in his tone, "I was wondering why you had not gone with her in the first place, actually."

"I promised her that I would leave her be. It is what she wanted." Elrohir couldn't help sounding bitter. If his father had not broken Jeren's heart, they would not now be separated.

"Are you saying she has gone back for good? And you will not be joining her?" Elrond couldn't help the slight hopeful note in his voice. He still did not think their bonding was a good idea, but he had come to an accord with himself about it last night. He already had one child close to being alienated from him; he did not want to achieve doing so with a second.

Elrohir looked at his father, the contempt back on his face. In the darkness it might not be so discernible to the Elf lord, but he, quite frankly, did not care. "No, that is not what I am saying, Father. You will not be getting your way in this. I told you before that if this was a battle you insisted on fighting, that you would lose. And you have. I will be leaving in four days, traveling to the settlement, and Jeren and I have made plans to bond there. We will no longer seek to appease you. I see now that it will not work. You are just going to have to be angry and disappointed in me."

"You have not disappointed me in a very long while, Elrohir," Elrond said quietly.

Elrohir looked at the Elf lord again, frowning slightly, as if wondering what his new game might be. "Until now," was all that he said.

Elrond smiled, although he knew his son did not see it, for Elrohir had again taken his eyes away from his father's face and was now looking at his joined hands in front of him.

"When I first came in here early this morning," Elrond started, "I had wanted to tell you both that I have changed my mind." He stopped for a moment, but then added, "It would be more truthful to say that I have come to a reluctant acceptance. You cannot help who you love any more than I can—or anyone can, for that matter. I am still worried for you, but I see that you and Jeren love each other, and it is wrong of me to stand in your way. I was going to give you both my blessing…"

Elrohir stood, angry again. "I wish you had come to your acceptance _before_ you told her to leave!"

"I did not tell her to leave, Elrohir…"

"Yes, I_ know_," he said derisively, "you _suggested_ it."

Elrond stood, and took hold of Elrohir's arm, not in a restraining sort of way, but more just to have contact with his son; to get his attention again. "I am sorry, Elrohir," he said sincerely. "If I could take back the words that caused her to go, I would, but that would not alter the fact that she is gone."

"I understand that better than you do," Elrohir countered. "And for that reason, I will hold you accountable for her welfare, until she is again safe in my arms."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren packed her things away quietly, even though the morning was so young that the sun had not even begun to hint of itself on the eastern horizon. She'd done most of her packing the night before. She only had to roll up her bed and tie it behind her saddle before she was ready to go. None of the Elves on the border guard would be expecting her to leave in the darkness—especially not Locien—so her stealth and quiet were extreme. If only she had the power to stifle the noise of a horse's hooves, then she could be truly away soundlessly.

Being so quiet and deliberate also meant that the process went slowly. Jeren wondered to herself why being silent also demanded that the pace of one's actions be lessened to a creeping crawl. But it did, and she endured, and before much time had passed, she was up and gone on Two, without any Elves in her wake, she hoped.

After she crossed the river, Jeren rode for about an hour, and then found a brushy place to hide herself and Two until the sun came fully up. As soon as it was light enough to keep Orcs in their lairs for the day, she would start for the settlement. She took her bedroll and saddlebags and leaned against the bole of a small tree. She ate another meal of bread and cheese to keep up her strength. Even though she was still very close to Imladris, she would keep her vigilance sharp for Orcs. She had no reason to think they would be this close to Rivendell; none had been sighted in this region for centuries. Orcs had always kept their distance from the Elven realm, since anything Elven, by definition, was abhorrent to them. Jeren supposed that eventually sheer numbers might have them appearing in places they had avoided before. At any rate, she had every intention of being extremely careful from this point forward.

She hadn't meant to leave quite so early this morning, but when she woke a couple of hours past midnight, she decided that that would be an opportune time to make her move. The Elves would think her too afraid of Orcs to leave before the sun was up, so they wouldn't be as careful when watching her, especially not Locien. This way she could truly be on her own to conquer the residual fear that she'd not admitted to anyone, not even herself until now.

Yes, being on her own for the first time in months scared her, and the fact that she was not yet completely healed only added to that fear. She'd only traveled alone one time, and that had been when she was fresh from Lord Glorfindel's tutelage, wanting Aragorn to accept her into the rangers. At the time she was brash and full of herself, wanting to prove to everyone that she could hold her own with her weapons. But after a few months of actually being a ranger, she had realized just how foolhardy and young she'd been—just as Elladan and Elrohir had tried to tell her at the time. At least now she was wiser, if not more proficient with her bow and sword. Hopefully, there wouldn't be occasion to try out her newly acquired skill with her left hand.

She had decided last night to go on to the settlement, even though she truly had wished to spend more time camped by the river on the Imladris side. Having the Elves trailing her every movement had put an end to any pleasure she might receive from her wandering. And truthfully, she wanted to get back to the stronghold—talk to Elen—and even Elladan—and ask their advice about what she should do concerning Lord Elrond. Her anger had burned itself down to only embers of sorrow. Thinking about him had brought her emotion around full circle, so that now she mostly felt remorseful for hurting him. She could no longer be angry at him. In his view she was causing his son to make decisions that could very well conclude with his death. A world without Elrohir in it would be bleak and lonely, and she could not wish that on someone she loved, not even the Elf lord, when she'd been her angriest at him. She understood, but she could not give in to his demands.

She waited through the hours until dawn with thoughts of Elrohir keeping her company. She already missed him, and she'd not been away from him but for a day. She smiled to herself as she thought about the evening when they'd come so close to bonding. She'd had second thoughts that afternoon, as she trained with the Arms Master. One could not be with an Elf of the stature and age of Lord Glorfindel and not be in awe of them all. In between bouts with the Arms Master her thoughts had wandered, and she found herself thinking of Lord Elrond; the more he moved into her mind, the guiltier she'd felt about her plans to deceive him by bonding with Elrohir that night. But she kept trying to relieve her guilt by telling herself that it was the right thing to do. She loved Elrohir and he loved her—she'd literally ached for him for weeks. She remembered the details now, his hands on her skin, her reaction to his touch. He'd already kissed every inch of her body, and just as he'd been about to join with her, she'd sighed and asked him to stop.

She knew she'd disappointed him at the time, and it wasn't as if she had truly wanted to stop their bonding, either, but she knew she wouldn't be able to live with the guilt if they had continued, consummating their union. Lord Elrond had done much for her—invited her into his home, cared for her, and had even taken her under his wing when her father had died. The more she'd tried to abandon herself to their lovemaking, the more dishonest she'd felt.

If only she had known how he would react when they did tell him. As things had turned out, she might as well have followed through with their bonding. Lord Elrond had not been pacified with knowing of their plans—he'd wanted them to abandon them. He was going to stay angry. It hurt her heart to accept such a truth, but now there was no denying it. They would be at odds from now on, she supposed, and there was no help for it. But she and Elrohir were going to be together, despite his father's wishes. The way she felt now, Elrohir was almost a part of her. Only their bonding would take their love that final distance, making it even more complete.

Finally the sun was up to her satisfaction, although it was still very early. She began getting Two ready to leave, even though it was not yet quite light enough. Orcs could definitely still be about, looking for a place to stay for the day, but she was too impatient to wait any longer, and she was as yet very close to Rivendell, so she was not truly worried. She led Two out into the more open area that would lead to the trail she would follow, but she suddenly became aware of voices—and they weren't that far away.

At first she thought that the Elves had found her, but the longer she listened to the barely audible speech, she realized with a start that it wasn't at all the beautiful words of the Eldar that she overheard, but the guttural sounds of Orcs that were assaulting her ears. She drew closer to Two, needing the steadiness of the horse to lessen the edginess she suddenly felt. From the sounds of things, there were only two of them—three at the most. She continued to listen, trying to determine their whereabouts. As the moments ticked by and the voices grew closer, she knew there were only two Orcs in this particular group. But that probably meant they were scouts, and that a larger assembly had to be very close by.

She gave fleeting thought to Locien, wondering if he had succeeded in tracking her, and if so, whether he knew about these Orcs. Her first instinct was to get onto Two and ride in the opposite direction, leaving these brutes behind, but she could not in good conscience leave the Elf alone with these fiends, if he had succeeded in tracking her today. She was sure he would not be out on the border if he could not defend himself, but she would have felt bad leaving anyone by themselves in a situation such as this. Besides that, if there was a large group of Orcs so close to Imladris, the Arms Master had to be warned, so that the Imladris force could come and wipe them away like the scum that they were.

She led Two deeper into the undergrowth, trying the reins to a sturdy tree, so that the mare could remain hidden while she scouted. Jeren strung her bow and belted on her quiver, loosened her sword in its sheath and felt for the hidden dagger in her boot. When she felt as prepared as she was ever apt to be, she moved herself toward the voices she'd heard, which were frighteningly closer now than they had been before.

Suddenly she heard a bird call that she knew had not been made by a real bird. It was the alert that the Imladris force used when they'd spotted Orcs. It could only be Locien, hoping she would respond in kind. She made the return call, and then moved toward the direction from which she'd heard the original alert. She stopped to make sure she was still headed in the right direction, and heard it once more. Again she responded and again she moved closer on the correct course, being as stealthy as she could in the process, not wanting to warn the Orcs that anything was amiss.

It wasn't long before she saw Locien, standing in plain sight about to call her again. She deliberately snapped a tiny twig beneath her boot and caught his attention, her finger to her lips to motion for silence. She made her way toward him, and as soon as she could, she grabbed hold of his sleeve, pulling him down to lie on the ground.

Using hand signals, she told him that there were two Orcs, and their approximate location, also conveying the message that she had every intention of seeking them out, so that she could hopefully find the larger group and they could alert Imladris of this intrusion. He grabbed her sleeve then, shaking his head in the negative. Pointing back toward Imladris, he made it known that that was where they were going—to get help.

Jeren rolled her eyes at him. She couldn't stop herself. She wasn't helpless and they needed the information she wanted to gather, so that this group of Orcs could be found and eradicated. They were so close to Rivendell. They had to be stopped.

They'd done this very thing in their training missions, and it had been drilled into them all that if Orcs were spotted, they were to find the main horde and go back to the officers to report the numbers. Even Locien must have gone through these very drills. Jeren knew that the only reason he was holding back now was because she was female—and Human—and he knew she'd been wounded.

She rose to her knees, about to creep toward the area where she'd last heard the Orcs, but Locien seized her arm, effectively stopping her. She wanted to jerk it out of his grasp, but it was her bad arm, and she was afraid his hold was too steady and tight for her to get loose. She settled for an angry glare, so intense that the Elf had no choice but to loosen his hold.

"Go back for the others, if you must, Locien," she whispered quietly, "but this is what I've been trained to do. I thought you had, too—" she looked at him steadily, and getting no response from him, she finished, "—but I suppose not. I am going to scout these Orcs out, count their numbers, and then find my horse and get back to Rivendell. Are you with me—or not?"

Locien looked at her appraisingly for a few minutes, just as she had been staring at him, but finally he nodded.

"Can you still hear them?" she whispered.

He nodded again, pointing in the direction he'd heard the Orcs speaking. Jeren nodded back, and together they proceeded toward the sound. Soon they were close enough that even Jeren could hear their voices. And then she saw them. _Yes, there were only two in this group. _

Jeren took an arrow from her quiver, bringing her bow around to take aim. Locien frowned and placed his hand on her bow, making her lower her weapon. Again she stared daggers at him, and he finally relented, but motioned for her to wait until he'd gotten his bow in position so that they could each take down one of the Orcs. As soon as the Elf was ready, Jeren drew back her bowstring and fired, and Locien acted in unison with her. Both of the Orcs fell dead, one with an arrow to the heart and the other with one through his eye.

It all happened in relative silence; the Orcs had no advance warning to put out an alarm, they just fell dead with little sound at all. Jeren slung her bow over her shoulder, intending to check the two beasts to make sure they were dead. Locien again stopped her, listening intently. Finally with his lips to her ear he whispered, "There are others near. We must leave and get help."

"How many?" Jeren whispered back.

"Probably three."

"That means the group they scout for is very large, Locien. We needs find out the number and location, so that we can report it to the Arms Master. You know this is our task. Why do you keep trying to escape it?"

He looked pointedly at her, not saying anything else.

It was just as she'd thought. He didn't believe she could hold her own, even after he saw her shoot that Orc through the heart. She closed her eyes, counting to three, so that she wouldn't inadvertently scream in her frustration. When she opened them again, she took a good look at the Elf she was with. It did not take a genius to reason out that he was almost as scared as she was. His eyes were wide open, giving him an almost startled appearance, and his lips were drawn and tight. Yes, she thought that was probably the true reason he wanted to get away without fulfilling what they both knew was expected of them. As she'd surmised the other day, he simply wasn't cut out for being in the wild, let alone stalking Orcs. However, she had to give him credit. She hadn't fooled him by leaving so early. It was obvious that he'd been trailing her since she'd left the other side of the Bruinen, and she hadn't detected his presence at all this morning.

How she wished—and not for the first time—for the heightened senses the Elves possessed. She could hear no other Orcs, but she knew that Locien could. It seemed as if he held the reins of the wagon they were both hitched to. She was just going to have to try and follow his lead, if she could ever get him to take charge.

She shrugged her shoulders, asking him where the other Orcs were. Thank the Valar he only pointed in one direction. She nudged him with an elbow, and then took off quietly into the brush in the way he'd pointed. It wasn't long until they'd found their quarry—three Orcs standing together just outside a small cave. Jeren and Locien waited, to see if some of this party had gone inside. After several minutes, they determined that none had. And it finally dawned on Jeren what these three were waiting for—the other two Orcs that she and Locien had just killed.

Just as she made this realization, she knew in her gut that she and Locien had been spotted by one of the Orcs. His reaction was swift—he lifted his bow just as Jeren lifted hers, but the Orc's shot left his bow a fraction of a second before hers did—and it found Locien, grazing against his skull, knocking him out. Her arrow was truer, but not fatal either. Hers was now lodged in the chest of the Orc doing the shooting. He was dying, but not dead yet. The other two Orcs charged directly at her.

Even had she thought to run, she couldn't—not and leave Locien behind. There was no time, so she drew her bow and shot again, and this time her aim was much truer, to her vast astonishment; one of the charging Orcs fell dead just feet away from her. She barely had time to draw her sword when the other was atop her. He bowled her over where she had stood, knocking the breath out of her. He bunched up his fist and socked her in the jaw, making her see stars, but she willed herself to stay aware—otherwise, she would be right back in the same position she had been in years ago, when this one took her back to the others for sport.

Of course her sword had gone flying out of her hand at the impact, so now she was without a weapon. She grappled with this beast on top of her, the stench of him and his fetid breath making her want to gag. She managed to get her fingernails up to his eyes, gouging for all she was worth. She hurt him, but he did not let go.

When he placed his hands around her throat, she knew she was as good as caught, if she didn't do something quickly. He wouldn't entirely squeeze the life out of her—he'd keep his choke hold steady until she lost consciousness—then he'd bind her hands and feet and take her back to the larger group. But his paws closed like a vise, and her world was growing dim. One of her hands was clawing at his as he tightened his grip on her neck, but the other was inching its way down to her boot, where her dagger was hidden.

Inch by precious inch she strained for the knife, and finally, just when she thought she would die from lack of air, she found her dagger and grasped its hilt. She brought it up quickly, plunging it into the neck of her assailant. His black blood spurted out all around her, covering her face, getting into her eyes; but he let go of her throat, and she gasped for breath as he toppled away from her.

She lay where she was for a few moments, hoping that the wounded Orcs were more dead than alive. She could certainly use a few moments to catch her breath. She sat up, swaying a little with the dizziness caused by the lack of air. She glanced at Locien, laid out beside her, and saw that he breathed, he just was not conscious. The wound at his temple was bleeding freely, but she knew that even the smallest of head wounds often did so.

The Orc that she'd fought with was taking his final breaths, after having bled almost to death by now. But the first one, the one she'd shot when this whole fiasco had unraveled, was moaning loudly by the mouth of the cave, several feet away. Jeren knew she had to hurry. The fight she'd had with the Orc had not been a quiet one, and if the larger group was within earshot, they had to be alerted by now and on their way here.

She got up unsteadily, still a little lightheaded from her encounter with the Orc's hands around her throat. She shook her head trying to clear it, at the same time trying to decide exactly what she should do. First things first—she took the dagger that was still in her hand and dispatched the moaning Orc; then she returned to Locien, shaking him and calling him softly, trying to rouse him, but she had no luck. She sat back on her heels, wondering the most efficient way to go about this. Deciding on a course of action, she pulled the limp body of the Elf into some heavier brush, making sure he was well-concealed before she left him there. He'd still not moved or made a sound.

She went back to where she had tethered Two and, as quietly as she possibly could, led the mare back to where she'd left Locien. She had no idea how she was going to get the Elf on top of the horse without him being conscious, but she would do it if she had to. She took her waterskin from the horn of her saddle, removed the stopper and aimed the stream of water at Locien's face, hoping against hope that it would do the trick of waking him up. After several seconds, the Elf sputtered and sat straight up, which was a mistake. He'd obviously been concussed, and he almost lost whatever was in his stomach. After he'd ceased gagging, he seemed to come to himself again, noticing that Jeren was pulling at his arm incessantly, trying to get him to stand. He obliged her, placing his foot into the stirrup and heaving himself up into the saddle. It was the most ungraceful movement Jeren thought she'd ever seen an Elf perform.

Locien had just settled into the saddle when they both looked up, hearing at last what Jeren had been fearing—the running feet of several Orcs. She still had to get Locien's bow stowed somewhere for travel and that took precious moments, when he looked at her dumbly as she handed it to him. She felt bad for him—his head being in such a muddle—but they had no time for him to recover. She leapt up behind the saddle, and grabbed the reins she'd been holding, spurring Two onward before she'd even sat herself well. She almost slipped off the horse's rump, but quickly latched onto the Elf in front of her, flinging her left arm around his torso as her legs clung to the barrel of the mare.

It was treacherous going at first—they were in a fairly heavily wooded area, and Two had to pick her way around trees and bushes. With only three good fingers on her right hand, holding the reins was a challenge. She didn't know how long she would be able to control the horse this way. The Orcs were gaining on them quickly, and now Jeren was hearing their arrows whistling past her ears, cutting the air around her. Then one of the black-fletched missiles found its mark, and Jeren felt it hit the bone of her right arm. The arrow struck her in almost the same place she'd been injured before, and she immediately felt her arm go numb.

"Locien!" she screamed, as she started sliding off the back of the horse, "take the reins!" Just in the barest nick of time he took the reins from where they'd slipped from her fingers, and she breathed a deep sigh of relief as she righted herself on the mare's back. If they could make it just a little further—out into the more open ground—they would be able to ride the rest of the way to the river at a much faster pace. She glanced at her arm, with the arrow protruding from the back of it, and she prayed to the Valar that this was not the end for it.

As soon as they reached the edge of the trees, she felt Locien spur Two faster. She again heaved a huge sigh of relief—Locien was now sensible enough to see them to the border. It took less than an hour of fast riding, and then they were crossing the Bruinen. Jeren had looked over her shoulder several times as they'd made their dash to the river, and the Orcs had been trailing them all along. But as soon as the Orcs saw them reach the water, they dropped their pursuit. Jeren kept watching as she could, hoping to be able to tell the Arms Master of their approximate number and in which direction they were headed when they'd broken off their chase.

As soon as the river was behind them, Locien whistled shrilly. That would bring the border guards toward them, even if they were leagues away. They rode to one of the shelters, where Locien dismounted, and then helped Jeren from her seat on the back of Two.

"You've been hit," he said, almost dumbly, but Jeren couldn't blame him for making such an obvious statement. He still was not himself; she could see it in his eyes. He helped her inside the shelter, and then retrieved the waterskin, giving Jeren a long drink. He went outside again, and Jeren could hear him whistle twice more. It was only minutes later that she could hear horses drawing up outside.

All three Elves came into the shelter then, and Jeren stood. Saeldur tried to press her back onto the stool she'd been seated on, but she would have none of it.

"No, Saeldur," Jeren said directly. "I must get back to Imladris—I have a report for Lord Glorfindel."

"One of us can give the report," he said, motioning to Feredir, to come closer.

"That is well," she said, "but I must get back now. This injury I have must been seen to."

"We can tend simple arrow wounds," Saeldur insisted.

"This isn't a simple wound, Saeldur," she said right back. "My arm is without feeling, and Lord Elrond must see to it himself. I almost lost this arm before; I do not plan on losing it now."

"At least allow one of us to remove the arrow," the Elf persisted. "Then we can bind the arm and put it into a sling."

"Just cut off the shaft—leave the head. Then the binding and a sling," she said. "We don't know the damage it has done, and I would have Lord Elrond do the removing. But hurry. There's no time to lose."

"The Orcs you encountered will not be where you last saw them," he said.

"I am not worried about Orcs at the moment," she said. "I will leave right now, if I must, without any healing; this injury cannot wait. You seem to not understand—Lord Elrond is the only reason my arm has remained with me thus far—I'll not take any chances with it, and I know from what he has told me, that time is of the essence."

Saeldur then spoke in Elvish to Feredir, who then made a fire in the stove, placing a kettle atop it to heat water. Jeren almost complained again, wanting to tell him that there was no time for this, but she found out seconds later that it wasn't for her. Feredir was making a tea for Locien's headache.

The Elf sat her back down where she'd been before and took out his hunting knife. He placed the edge of his blade against the arrow's shaft and quickly had it snapped off, leaving only the barest end protruding from her arm. He then went to a cupboard against one wall and removed a box that turned out to contain healing supplies. He dabbed a little salve of some kind around the arrow wound and then took up a roll of bandage and wound it around her arm. After he had that tied off, he went outside for a moment, but quickly returned, ripping one of his shirts as he walked back toward her. As soon as he had a length and breadth of cloth to his satisfaction, he placed her arm in the sling he'd made, and she hissed through her teeth as he brought the cloth around her shoulders, roughly touching the sides of her neck. After hearing her gasp, he held off a moment, looking at the skin of her throat, and then, much more gently, he tied the sling so that it could support her arm.

"You had a close encounter with one of them," he said.

"Closer than I ever hope to have again," she replied. She looked up into the Elf's eyes. "You have my thanks, Saeldur. This should see me well back to the house."

By now Feredir had the tea made and poured into a skin so that Locien could drink it on their way. He offered another skin to Jeren, but she declined. "I needs be alert for making my report."

"Make your report to me," Saeldur said, as soon as they were on the trail leading down into the valley. "That way you can go directly to the healing halls, and not take time out to speak to Lord Glorfindel."

So Jeren told both Saeldur and Feredir exactly what had happened, leaving out the parts where Locien had shied away from them doing what was expected of them. And she told them the direction the Orcs had gone in when she and Locien left them on the other side of the river. She left out no other details, and told things that she figured probably weren't all that important, but she wanted to be thorough. And when she was finished, she started again, making sure she had left nothing out. Locien was barely conscious, so he made no move to say anything, and that is why the other two Elves had not ridden ahead to tell of Jeren's coming; they were riding beside him, making sure he stayed atop his horse.

Jeren shook her head as she thought about Locien's Elven horse. Locien had been afoot when she'd found him, and she'd not given much thought to where his mount might be at the time. Then later, they'd had to make such haste, finding his horse hadn't even occurred to her. But the horse had found them as they'd made their way out of the woods, and had run beside them the rest of the way back. Now he was obviously relieved to have his Elf once again on his back where he belonged.

Now that all the excitement and fear had left her, Jeren felt her energy flag. She began to wonder if she would be able to stay atop Two. But just when her eyelids began trying to close of their own accord, she saw that the house was nearly in sight. She smiled her relief, but at the same time, she dreaded what was coming.

Lord Elrond would see to her healing, if he could. And that is what scared her—what if this time he couldn't do anything? She'd been warned against breaking this arm again—it would not be saved a second time.

She'd parted with him on such ill terms. She did not fear that he wouldn't do his best for her. Not at all. But she would still be dependent on him, having to take advantage of his healing, even though she was breaking his heart.

And that didn't seem fair...

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**A/N: Again, thanks to all reviewers: yuemoon,******** heavenslilagl420, Southern Pride, American Pride, Duck, ******Nell******, ****dr3, Shycoyotegirl, Song in the Woods, Livia09, Sadie Sil, Brandibuckeye, Lady Anne, Teacalm, and Elfinabottle********.******


	24. Chapter 24

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

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As the group rode up the cobbled way to the stables and to the back of the house, Jeren could feel the last of her strength ebbing.

She could relax now. She was home and safe…

Home…

Lord Elrond would be here and he'd tend to her, and tell her if her arm had even a chance of being saved again. As she thought about the Elf lord, and the enmity that had grown between them, she felt like weeping, so she tried to put both him and her benumbed arm out of her thinking. But the image of the Orc attacking her this morning blared up in front of her mind's eye. The picture burst upon her suddenly, the emotion threatening to erupt out of her throat in a scream at any moment. She could feel her control slipping away. Tears sprang to her eyes. She dropped her head forward, trying to relax and hopefully keep anyone from seeing should she be unable to keep her tears from falling. Taking back the control she knew she had somewhere, she stuffed the reaction to her encounter with the Orcs down deep, where she felt it belonged. These kinds of feelings had no place in a warrior's heart. She summoned strength from somewhere inside of her; from a place she did not know existed.

Elves from the stables were there in an instant, holding horses' heads for the riders to dismount. Jeren wasn't sure how she was going to get down. It had been hard enough mounting in the first place, with the use of only one arm. She remembered the indignity of having Saeldur plant a hand in the seat of her pants so that she had enough lift to get her leg over Two's back. It wasn't so much his hand on her person that bothered her, as it was that she'd needed his help in the first place.

She steeled herself. This dismount would not be pretty, however she would accomplish it. She decided it would be with dignity, no matter what transpired. If the worst happened and she fell, she would then get up without a whimper and walk sedately into the house. But she found she needn't have worried at all. One of the Elves from the stable was holding his hands up to her. She glanced over at Locien and saw he was practically being pulled from his horse into Feredir's waiting arms, so she decided whatever happened when she dismounted couldn't be as bad as that.

She slung her right leg over Two's withers, and then disengaged her left foot from the stirrup. She then merely leaned forward, and the Elf's waiting hands went around her waist to ease her feet to the ground. She thanked him as she stood there, trying to get her legs to quit their shaking. Saeldur looked at her strangely and she wondered why. She took a step, and it was as if there was no ground beneath her foot.

She could feel herself falling…

But could do naught to stop it.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren came to with the strangest feeling of floating in the air. As she opened her eyes, they focused on her legs, draped over a strong arm. Someone was carrying her! She tried to keep her eyes open, so that she could see where she was going, and Saeldur's face drifted and waved as she worked her eyes upward. She was so tired and confused…

It then came to her that she was back at home in Rivendell, and Saeldur was carrying her to the healing halls. She had just enough sense about her to feel humbled over how she had scoffed at Locien's predicament. She was now being carried like a newborn baby, just as he was. As she came more awake, she said, "You can put me down now, Saeldur. I can walk from here."

He looked at her, a wry grin curling one side of his mouth. "I'm certain you could, lady warrior, but it is only a short distance to the healing halls. Allow me this one courtesy to you."

She was sure her face reddened for accepting such help from a fellow fighter, but in truth she wasn't sure she could walk without aid at the moment. Then she caught another glimpse of Locien in Feredir's arms just ahead of her, reminding her that he was having to be carried to the healing halls, too. It made her feel somewhat better somehow.

Saeldur shouldered one of the double doors aside, following Feredir into the healing wards. One of the usual aides that helped Lord Elrond was there in an instant, guiding Saeldur to a bed on which to lay the wounded woman.

Mariel bustled about, 'tsking' at her, and saying, "Ah, Jeren, what have you done to yourself _this_ time?" The kind smile that she wore gladdened Jeren's heart. She'd seen Mariel many times here in the healing halls, and always the Elleth asked her that very same question.

So Jeren answered in the same way she always did: "I promise, Mariel, I did not do this to myself."

Mariel continued to fidget about Jeren for a few moments and adjusted the pillow beneath her head. "Are you cold, child?" she asked. "Shall I get you a blanket?" At the negative shake of Jeren's head, she glanced up at Saeldur, saying, "Lord Elrond is in his study. Would you go fetch him here, please?"

Saeldur gave her a slight bow of his head and left the room. "Now, rest easy for a few minutes, Jeren. I must go get some decoctions started that the Lord will require for the healing of both you and Locien. Just try to close your eyes and sleep if you can."

Jeren thanked her and did as she'd been told, not thinking she would be able to sleep now, even though she was as tired as she'd ever been in her life. But it felt as if her eyes had barely shut when she suddenly came awake—someone was untying the sling that was cradling her wounded arm.

Lord Elrond. She couldn't help the sudden tears that started in her eyes at the sight of him. He smiled at her—a true smile—one that she'd always thought he'd reserved just for her. "It is glad I am to see you home, Dear One," he said. "I am sorry for ever implying you might want to leave."

Jeren smiled back at him, and then frowned when she realized that the movement of her mouth really hurt. She raised her left hand to cradle her jaw, where that Orc she had fought with this morning had hit her—hard. Elrond pulled her hand away, and replaced it with his fingers, feeling along the bone to ensure nothing was broken.

"Just a bad bruise, I think," he said. His brows almost met in the center of his face when he spied the handprints that circled her neck. He prodded at her throat for a few seconds, asking her to swallow, which she did, and he then said, "I think nothing is wrong here; just more bruising and swelling. You might have to drink your meals for a day or two." He smiled again.

Even as beaten and tired as she was, Jeren's heart soared. Lord Elrond was treating her as he always had. She would not allow herself to think it was solely because she was wounded, and he was simply being kind to her for that reason. She decided that he had forgiven her for wanting to bond with his son. She hoped to the Valar that it was true.

Jeren could feel her eyes closing against her will. When next she was aware again, which was truthfully only a few moments later, Naith was there with a glass of water, asking her if she'd like a drink. After vaguely wondering when the Elleth had come into the healing halls, she accepted it gratefully. Elrond stopped for a minute and looked around for Mariel. He finally spotted her and called her over to his side. He said something to her in Elvish, and she quickly walked away. Then he said, "Naith, go and find my son, please. He will be happy to see that Jeren has returned." She smiled at Jeren as she exited the room.

Jeren steeled herself for what was now coming—Lord Elrond was removing the bandage from her wounded arm. With gentle hands, he lifted her limb, peering at the place where the broken shaft of the Orc's arrow protruded from her skin. He lowered her arm back to the bed.

"Make a fist, Dear One," he instructed, his hands settling on different parts of her arm. She shook her head slightly, saying, "I cannot. The minute I was hit, the arm went limp. I have been unable to move it since." His frown deepened again for a moment, but then he looked back into her eyes. "Do not worry. With the help of Mariel, I will explore this wound and remove the arrowhead. We will worry once you are awake again, if there is still anything to worry about."

Jeren looked away for a moment, wanting to gain control over her voice. The thought that her arm might be completely crippled this time sent waves of dread through her, settling somewhere near her stomach. Finally she felt ready to speak. "I will try to fret, my lord. I will not lie—this scares me more than almost anything else ever has."

He patted her shoulder in a reassuring way. "I understand, Young One. Do try to be at ease; later we will have more facts." He glanced at the door. "Elrohir should be here any minute."

Mariel returned and began bustling about Jeren again, helping her to sit up so that her clothes could be removed and a gown from the healing halls put in their place. "We must get you cleaned up before we take you into the surgery," she said. "Sit here a moment and get your bearings, dear, and then we can get you to the tubs."

This would be another challenge for Jeren. She didn't think she could walk to the baths here in the healing halls. The tubs were very near, but her legs felt as if they were made of jelly, not flesh and bone, and the slight faintness she felt would not go away. She sat on the edge of the bed for a moment longer, trying to gather her strength, but before she could put even one foot on the floor, Lord Elrond bent and picked her up, carrying her to the baths himself.

It felt very good to have him so near—and also to know that he was no longer as unhappy with her as he had been before she'd left. He'd called her the names she'd grown to love—Dear One and Young One. Not Jeren… not once.

He left her there with Mariel and before long, Jeren was stretched out in the bath, soaking in the warmth of the mineral-filled water. Mariel told her to place her wounded arm into the bath for a few minutes, to wash away the salve that Saeldur had placed there before he'd bandaged her. Mariel had then left the room to go prepare a place for her surgery to be performed, so Jeren was truly able to relax for the first time all day.

She did not want to fall asleep—she feared sliding further down into the water and drowning—but she was losing that battle. She closed her eyes for just a minute, and then, when her chin broke the surface of the water, she woke with a start to find Elrohir sitting beside the tub on the floor gazing at her. She raised herself to a more sitting position and, without regard to her nakedness at all, she held her left arm out to him, inviting him into her embrace.

He held her close, and it was then that the dam broke that had been holding her tears at bay, and she wept. She cried because she feared what would become of her wounded arm. Added to that was the pure terror she'd felt at having an Orc so close to her that he'd had his hands around her throat. She wept harder as she thought about his father, and how it seemed as if Lord Elrond had somehow forgiven her for loving his son. But most of all, she wept because she loved Elrohir so much, and she cried just for the sheer joy of being close to him again.

After only a few moments, she drew back and looked into his beautiful face. He was smiling at her. That was a relief—she'd somehow thought he might be angry. After all, she was returning to him broken, when she'd promised him she'd be in no danger.

He kissed her then, long and lingering, then sat back, placing his forehead against hers. "I love you," he whispered, as if he didn't trust his voice.

"I love you, too, Elrohir," she said.

She shivered from his nearness, but he mistook it for her being wet and cold. He took a cloth from beside the tub, dipped it into the water, and then drew it gently over the skin of her face. It was when he rinsed the cloth that she realized that she was still covered in Orc's blood. She pulled her braid around from her back and could feel the stickiness in it as well. She groaned.

"I want to wash my hair, but do I have time?" she asked. "I know your father wants to get this arm looked after as quick he might."

"There is time," Elrohir said, and then he not only helped her bathe, but he helped her wash her hair as well. He had even aided her in transferring to a cleaner tub when they had the worst of the dirt and Orc blood washed away, so that she could rinse in clear water. When they were finished, Elrohir bundled her up in a robe to keep her warm, while he found the gown that Mariel had placed aside for her. He slipped the gown over her head, being careful of her injured arm. He then draped a blanket around her and lifted her into his arms, taking her back into the healing wards, to the room where Lord Elrond would remove the arrowhead from her arm.

The Elf lord was standing near the table where he would do the needed surgery. It was a plain wooden table in a room with no other beds or desks in it, only cupboards and shelves that held his healing supplies. There was also a large washstand in one corner, where he would clean his hands and instruments when he was finished.

Elrohir laid her down on the table, and then bent over her, his face just inches from hers. "My father will make it right again, Jeren. I know it, and I want you to know it."

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

He kissed her briefly. "I love you. Now go to sleep and dream about us being together. Very pleasant dreams."

She smiled back at him, hoping all the love she felt for him was reflected in her face. "I love you, too…"

Then Lord Elrond placed his hand on her forehead. She took hold of Elrohir's fingers, needing his strength to face this challenge. She quickly felt herself drifting, and she knew she should not fight the Elf Lord's sleep. She closed her eyes…

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren opened her eyes to find herself in her own room in the Last Homely House. It was dark outside and a lamp was lit on her dressing table, but turned down low. Elrohir was sitting there reading a book and taking notes from it. She was barely awake, but it seemed as if she'd done something to draw his attention to her. He put down the quill he'd been using and got up from the stool. Jeren smiled. It was so 'Elrohir' for him to not have bothered getting a larger chair in which to sit; something much more suitable for his frame.

He sat on the side of her bed and leaned toward her, resting both hands on either side of her. He then felt of her forehead. Satisfied, he smiled at her. "Good evening."

She started to answer, but coughed instead. He helped her sip from a glass of water that was sitting on the table beside the bed. As soon as her thirst was quenched, she tried speaking again. "Good evening. How long have I been sleeping?"

"Half the day and half the night," he replied with a grin. "It is now about an hour until midnight." He brushed a wayward strand of her hair away from her face. "Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat?"

She shook her head. "No, I think not."

He frowned, pursing his lips. "Should I be worried about you? It isn't often that you turn down a meal."

Jeren chuckled a little. She was still too groggy to make much sense of anything. But one question could not wait. "Why am I not in the healing halls, Elrohir?"

"Father thought it unnecessary. The wound proved to be fairly minor; the bone wasn't broken, thank Ilúvatar. Your arm should be fine in a few days."

Jeren furled her brow. "Really, Elrohir? You aren't just saying that to make me feel better, are you?"

"See for yourself," he said confidently. "Try to move your fingers."

Jeren looked at her arm where it sat atop the covers. There was no large, heavy splint on it this time; just a small bandage that was wound around it where the injury was. Tentatively she tried to move her index finger. It took some doing at first, but it did move to her command. She then tried to move the rest of them, and her thumb and middle finger moved, too, just as they had before. She looked at Elrohir, the relief plainly written on her face.

"Father said it was probably just a nerve that was compressed by the arrowhead, in just the wrong way, that made your arm go numb and lose function. It looks as if all is well with it."

"It certainly seems so," she said, as she flexed her fingers a few more times. She then grew quiet again. She was content just being here in this room, in this house, with the Elf that she loved right here with her. She studied his face…

He looked at her for what felt like a long while, but he finally said, "I will leave you to your rest." He straightened up and started to rise, but Jeren reached for him, grabbing his sleeve and stopping him from moving away.

"Please, don't go, Elrohir," she said. "Could you hold me, at least until I fall asleep?" Jeren felt foolish asking him for this. But why should she not have his comfort? This was Elrohir, the one who loved her more than anyone else ever had. She knew it was a small thing to ask—but it was also a definite show of weakness.

He quickly divested himself of his boots, lying himself down in the bed, folding his arms around her. He settled them both until they were comfortable, taking care not to hurt her arm. But she was asleep within minutes, so he just lay there, inhaling the scent of her newly-washed hair.

There was a quiet knock on the door, which he did not acknowledge. After another knock, a little louder that the first time, but still not enough to wake up the woman in his arms, the door opened slowly and Lord Elrond stepped inside. He walked over to the bed, one of his brows quirked up, as if he was surprised at finding his son lying next to his patient.

Elrohir spoke softly, hoping he would not disturb Jeren. "She will not admit it, but she is afraid. She wanted me to hold her."

"How is she doing otherwise?"

"She was only awake briefly, but I asked her if she could move her fingers, and she could."

"That is good news. I thought it just a bruised nerve, but it is good to have confirmation of that." He frowned, shaking his head. "From the looks of her throat, she had quite a battle with at least one Orc."

Elrohir closed his eyes, his own fear that she might have been killed almost overwhelming him then. But when he opened them again, he said, "I hope it scared her enough to give up fighting altogether."

Elrond smiled, just short of chuckling. "I would not count on that, were I you, son. It would be best to wish for something that might be attainable." The Elf lord turned away. "I'll see you both in the morning."

"Good night, Father."

Elrohir nestled his head back down on the pillow beside Jeren's. He finally felt able to breathe. For more than a day he had been all but holed up here in this room, fear clutching at his chest, not allowing for easy breathing. He'd only been waiting for his chance to go join Jeren at the settlement, so that he could hold her again; know that she was alive and unhurt. He would never have wanted her to return at the price of her being injured, but he was glad that she was here.

He kissed her hair…

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren awoke the next morning just as the sun was peeking over the eastern cliffs of Imladris. It was much later than her usual time of rising, but she'd been drugged with Lord Elrond's deep healing sleep, so it wasn't surprising. As she came more awake, she realized that Elrohir was still in her bed. One of his arms was lying protectively over her abdomen, and when she turned her face toward him, she could see that he was still walking his dream paths. She started to roll closer to him, but stopped after she'd used her very sore arm. Then, as she came more awake, she could feel that all the bumps, cuts and strains she'd acquired yesterday were waking as well. Her jaw, in particular, hurt quite a bit.

Despite her pain, she moved nearer to the Elf in her bed and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek. He blinked his eyes several times, and then stretched, finally pulling her closer to him.

"Good morning," he said huskily. He hoped he'd stopped himself in time from frowning at the sight of her—the place on her jaw where the Orc had cuffed her had bruised a deep purple, and it had spread all the way up to just under her left eye. "How are you feeling?"

"I feel like… like I've been fighting with Orcs, I suppose," she said with a smile, and then a wince, when the pain in her jaw sliced through her head.

When her eyes uncrossed, she looked at him again, and he was laughing softly. "I suppose that will teach you—to go fighting with Orcs by yourself."

"I wasn't by myself—Locien was with me!"

He laughed again. "It will not please you to know, then, that Locien has resigned his position with the border guard, effective yesterday."

Jeren blew out a breath in exasperation and disappointment, reconciling herself to the fact that Locien had not been good when it came to facing down Orcs. "All right, so I _was_ basically by myself," she said with a small smile, which turned into a laugh, when Elrohir started tickling her gently. She began to whimper pitifully, as if he were hurting her so badly she just might die. He stopped his abuse, but he laughed again and she smiled up into his face.

"Do you feel up to going to the dining hall and breaking your fast? Or would you prefer breakfast in bed?" he asked her.

"I needs get up," she said seriously. "I've been lying abed for far too long as it is."

It didn't take long before they were both up and refreshed. Elrohir had gone to his own room for a change of clothing, while Jeren crept around as much as her tired and sore body would allow, taking her time at getting dressed. When he returned he helped her with her braid and insisted that she employ the sling that his father had left, with explicit instructions that she was to use it without fail. When she took a final look in the mirror, she wasn't too disappointed in the result. The left side of her face was black and blue, but otherwise, she didn't look too worse for the wear.

When they finally entered the dining hall, at a time when the others should have been finished, they found Glorfindel and Elrond lingering over their meal, having a discussion that they abruptly broke off as soon as the couple appeared. All of them exchanged greetings, and the latecomers seated themselves, helping themselves to the various dishes that were already on the table.

"I trust you slept well?" Lord Elrond asked Jeren.

"I did," she replied, but said nothing else. She suddenly wondered if what she remembered about the Elf lord's change of attitude in the healing halls yesterday might have been a dream after all.

But when she saw his smile, she knew she had not been dreaming.

"Keep that sling on for at least another day, even if you feel like you do not need it. I think that you do."

"Yes, my lord," she answered. "I will."

By now she was so used to eating with her left hand that it did not slow her down at all, and she was voraciously hungry this morning. She hated to make a spectacle of herself, but she could not help it. She had barely eaten a thing yesterday, and she had every intention of making up for lost time—or food—today. Now, if only she could get her sore jaw to function just a little faster.

"Jeren, I would have you go over with me the results of your scouting yesterday," Glorfindel said, just before he got up from his chair. When he saw Elrohir's scowl, he quickly added, "Of course, only after you feel up to it; but I would appreciate your promptness. I am mustering the entire force, and if the numbers are as you reported to Saeldur, time is something of a consideration. I will be in the armory all day. You can find me there, if you grow bored with your intended's company." He looked pointedly at Elrohir as he got up, and then he gave Elrond a nod as he left the room.

Jeren looked at Elrohir again, asking, "Were you telling me truly? Did Locien quit the border guard?"

Elrohir's grin lit up his face. It was just out of respect for an Elf that knew his limitations, that he did not laugh outright. "I was not speaking falsely."

"I am really surprised he made it as far as he did, if seeing Orcs scared him so badly," Jeren said between bites. "Surely he'd gone on several training missions, hadn't he?"

"Yes, I'm sure that he did," Elrohir replied. "But there were always other Elves with him, not some unknown Human that seemed bent on getting the both of you killed."

Jeren stopped chewing for a few seconds, wanting to curse at the Elf across the table from her. But she calmed herself, swallowed what was in her mouth, and said in her own defense, "I did nothing that would have alarmed any other warrior in the Imladris force."

"Elrohir," Elrond said as he got up from his chair, "no fighting, please. My patient is freshly out of the healing halls." Turning toward Jeren, he finished, "I prescribe fresh air and sunshine. Get you outside for awhile, apart from my son, if the two of you are determined to quarrel."

Jeren rose. "That sounds like a wonderful idea. I'm going to the armory—alone." She had aimed the last word at Elrohir, and tossing her napkin onto her plate, she walked determinedly out of the room.

"This is not going to be easy," Elrohir said to his father as he stood. "I had hoped that this 'adventure' had scared her enough to keep her home."

"I was hoping you weren't counting on that too strongly," Elrond said. "She's very determined, and as much a warrior at heart as you are, son. I think there will be no talking her out of it—ever."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren did go to the armory, just as she'd told Elrohir she'd planned to do. She found Glorfindel in his office, and knocked on the frame of the open door. He invited her to enter, motioning her to sit in a chair beside him.

He sat back in his seat, and got directly to the point. "I would hear the entire report of yesterday from you; from when you first heard the Orcs near you."

So Jeren told him the complete story, continuing to leave out the parts about Locien's reluctance to fulfill their task. He stopped her several times to ask her questions, which she answered. When she had told him everything—at least three times—he finally said, "Your account of the events differs from Locien's."

Not thinking about anything other than the facts, she protested, "I cannot imagine what he could have added that I have not said. I've told you the details fully…" She trailed off, trying to think of what she could have possibly left out. She could think of nothing.

Glorfindel's mouth quirked up in a crooked grin. "You did not tell me that you led the mission. You would have me believe that Locien was a full participant in the reconnaissance, and he has told me that he was not. Why did you not speak of that, Jeren?"

It suddenly dawned on her that he'd used her given name—and more than once. He always called her 'Girl'. No exceptions. She swallowed hard, past the lump that had formed in her throat. She was afraid he was going to call her down for lying to him by omitting Locien's part—or more precisely his lack of a part—in the events that ensued. Or perhaps she'd not followed some sort of protocol she should have. She thought quickly, running through rules and regulations of the Imladris force, and could think of no precept she could have infringed upon. So she decided to tell him the truth—it was what she was best at anyway…

"I thought to spare Locien's name, if I could," Jeren said honestly. "He tried very hard, but he is just not cut out for being a warrior."

Glorfindel nodded, quiet for a moment, as if he were considering something. He sat forward, placing his joined hands on the tabletop. "I have a proposal for you, Jeren."

_There it was again; he'd used her given name…_

"Yes, Arms Master?"

He looked at her appraisingly for a little longer, then said, "I would have you join the Imladris force, as a scout, if you feel up to the challenge. I do not know if it is even something you might consider. Of course, none of this will take place until this latest injury of yours is healed."

Jeren's jaw dropped for a split-second, and then she closed her mouth quickly, pursing her lips to keep from shouting out her joy or allowing them the freedom to break out into a delighted smile. She didn't need to consider anything—she knew she'd never be accepted back into the Dúnedain rangers. Someone with only three functioning fingers on one hand would not pass their rigid tests for re-admittance into their ranks. Unable to contain her joy for a moment longer, she said, "As a scout, Arms Master?"

He nodded, but looked at her as if she were grating on his nerves. "And cease calling me 'Arms Master'. I am no longer your Arms Master. You are—if you accept the position—a member of the Imladris force, not a mere trainee."

"I accept, Lord Glorfindel," she blurted out in a rush.

"Good. We can go over the details at a later time. I do not expect Elrond is going to release you from his care for at least the next two weeks. He does tend to coddle you."

Jeren smiled broadly. "Yes, he does, does he not?"

Glorfindel gave Jeren a strange look then, one she had never expected to see on his face, aimed at her—one of respect.

"You did fine work yesterday, Jeren," he said then. "It was a difficult situation, but from what Locien has told me, you handled it well, following the protocol you had been taught to the letter. You will receive commendation for your actions."

Jeren hadn't believed this day could get any better, but it just kept doing so. "Thank you, Arms— Lord Glorfindel," she managed to say.

He had that exasperated look on his face again, so Jeren decided her presence was no long required. That was all to the good, since she could barely contain her desire to go shout out her happiness to anyone who would listen. "Is there anything else, my lord?"

"You are dismissed," he said, and Jeren left the room, for all the world feeling as if she walked on air.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren made her way back to the house as sedately as she could. She immediately began looking for Elrohir, so that she could tell him the good news. She looked in his room and also in hers, but didn't find him. She finally checked the library, and Erestor told her that he was hidden behind stacks of parchments and scrolls in a dusty corner all by himself. So she went to where Erestor had directed her, and there was the Elf that she loved, completely absorbed in a text that he was reading.

"I didn't know you were a scholar," she said quietly. If she had startled him, he did not show it, but then she supposed that he'd heard her footsteps from a great distance, and possibly even her voice as she'd spoken to the older Elf.

"I'm not, usually," he said, not yet looking up from his reading. After he'd finished what he'd been interested in he glanced up at her. "So, you've been to see Glorfindel; given him your report?"

"Yes, I've just come from the armory." Jeren's smile was a nervous one. Now that she was here, she wasn't sure Elrohir was going to react in the same elated way that she had. But she couldn't stay quiet for long—she had to tell someone or burst! So she grabbed his hand and said, "I would fulfill the prescription that your father gave to me—to be out in the sunshine—but I find I am lonely. Would you join me?"

He looked back at the book that he'd been reading as if he truly did not want to leave his research, but he quickly sought her eyes again. "Of course. I'd like nothing better than a walk through the garden with the one that I love."

He got up, not bothering to straighten the disheveled mess the desk was in, leaving the scrolls and books and notes scattered over its top. He took her hand and together they walked out into the late summer sunshine. They walked until they found themselves once again in the garden that was his family's alone.

He led her to one of the stone benches that was scattered along the walks and sat her down, sitting next to her. He turned to her, and being careful of her jaw, he gave her a kiss that still managed to heat her blood. It almost made her forget her wonderful news.

"Now that you're here, when will you bond with me?" he whispered into her ear, his voice trembling slightly.

The way his breath stirred her hair gave Jeren tingles up and down her spine. She trailed tiny kisses along the curve of his lips, and then kissed her way up the side of his face.

"Ai," he said, "you must cease doing that…"

"Cease doing what?" she asked, her lips touching his ear as she spoke.

She could feel his hands tremble where they held her. She let her tongue graze his ear then, and she thought he was going to come unhinged.

"I am going to have to take you right here on the ground," he said raggedly, as soon as he was sensible enough to form the words into a sentence. "I'm serious, Jeren… when can we bond?"

"As soon as I do not have this sling as a hindrance," she said quietly, smiling.

He sat up straight then, and looked at her—truly looked at her—and broke into a chuckle. "I am sorry, Jeren," he said. "I got carried away with my need of you. I wasn't thinking…"

"You were merely thinking with parts of you other than your brain," she replied sweetly. "And I find that I like the way those other parts think."

He laughed, and then gave her another quick kiss, capturing her left hand in his, weaving his fingers through hers. "I am so happy to have you back here, where you belong."

"I do belong here, don't I Elrohir?" she asked, sincerely meaning the question.

"Of course you do. Forever—or as long as we decide to make it our home."

Jeren was basking in the wonder of this day. To be sitting here with her beloved and kissing him was enough, but if you added what Glorfindel had asked her only a short while ago, she was almost bursting with happiness over it all. She stood, unable to sit still with the excitement that was coursing through her. "Elrohir," she said, "you will never guess what Lord Glorfindel said to me earlier."

He looked at her expectantly. "What did he say?"

"Well," she said, pacing a short distance away, "for one thing, he's no longer calling me 'Girl'; he's addressing me by my given name."

Elrohir chuckled. "I'd never really noticed him calling you that. I am glad if it makes you happy."

"_I've_ noticed," she said. "And I have not liked it, but could say nothing, since he's far superior to me. But now, after my latest excursion in the wild, it seems I have garnered his favor."

Elrohir grinned widely. "I know that must make you happy. You have worked hard in your training."

"Yes, I have," she said, but added excitedly, "He has made me the most wonderful offer, Elrohir. I am almost afraid to believe it—it seems like it must be a dream."

"What has he offered you?" Elrohir asked, his expression turning skeptical.

"He has offered me a place on the Imladris force," she said quickly, stopping to see if she could read any reaction in Elrohir's face.

His brows rose, as he said, "Really? And what was your answer?" He looked at her steadily, but hurriedly added, "I am sure you told him you needed to speak to your betrothed before you made any such commitment."

Jeren broke her gaze away from his. "I— I'm sorry, Elrohir. I did not even think of doing such a thing. I suppose I've been on my own for too long. I should have thought about you…"

The Elf was no longer smiling. He asked her quietly, "What did you tell him?"

"I— I told him— yes," she said hesitantly. But she went on, trying to make it seem like it was a proposition she could not refuse. "It isn't just a fighting position, Elrohir. He wants me to scout."

Elrohir looked as though Jeren had struck him. He could not have been more surprised. But the longer he sat there staring at her, the more his face began to reflect his rage. He suddenly got up from the bench. "I could _kill_ Glorfindel with my bare hands!" he said vehemently, and he started walking back the way they had come, his body alive with ferocity. Jeren ran after him, grabbing his arm in what felt like a futile attempt to stop him.

"Why are you so angry?" she asked him, using all the strength she could gather to make him quit walking.

He turned on her, his voice quiet but brutal. "You stand there with bruises on your neck where an Orc almost killed you, and you have the _nerve_ to ask me why it angers me?"

"Elrohir!" she said in warning. "If you breathe a word of dissent about this to Lord Glorfindel, I will— "

He stood there waiting for her to finish her statement, but she didn't. She was probably too angry. But her anger had the effect of toning his down. He knew he would get nowhere if this came to a clash of wills with her. He took a deep breath.

"I am sorry, Jeren," he said, "but I cannot abide this. Do you realize what it entails? You will be riding _toward_ Orcs, instead of away from them. Surely you cannot seriously entertain such a notion." He paced two steps and then stopped. "What can Glorfindel be thinking, to offer you such a thing?"

Jeren was still angry, although she was trying to calm down. "Mayhap he thinks I am capable of doing the task, Elrohir. It is obvious that you do not."

He saw that he'd hurt her, and he truly had not meant to. He only wanted her to see reason. His shoulders sagged as the rest of his anger fell away. Grabbing her hand, he led her back to the bench they'd been seated on before. They both sat down, and Elrohir kept her hand, bringing it up to his lips to kiss the back of it, and then lowering it to rest on his thigh.

"I truly do not wish to fetter you, Jeren. You know that isn't my intent. But I have hated the idea of you fighting since you started doing it."

"I know, Elrohir," Jeren said, squeezing his hand. "But I am a capable warrior. I was a ranger for three years. Lord Aragorn would not have kept me on, had I not been able to do the work."

"Yes, that's true enough," he admitted. "And I had almost gotten used to watching you ride out on patrol."

"Almost?"

He looked her in the eyes. "Almost. Nearly. Not quite completely—but almost."

Jeren smiled and kissed his pouting lips.

"When you came so close to losing your arm, I thought you would quit. I hoped so with my entire being."

"Elrohir," Jeren said quietly, "don't you see that I wouldn't be me, if I had? I am a warrior; I know nothing else." She looked at their joined hands for a minute, and then she added, "Truthfully, I no longer have such a burning desire to slay Orcs anymore. What I do have a great need to do is to help with the strategy involved with battling them."

"If you want to be included in strategic meetings, that is simple enough, Jeren. All we need do is discuss it with my father and Glorfindel."

"No, Elrohir," Jeren said, shaking her head. "No. I want nothing that I do not earn. And this offer of Lord Glorfindel's is a step toward exactly what I want. Can you not see that? As a scout, I will be included in the meetings, since I will know the locations and numbers of the enemy. But I do not want any position that is just _given_ to me. I have to earn it. Just as you would, were we talking about you."

"But we aren't talking about me," he said. He looked at her with an expression bordering on irritation, but finally his face relaxed and he put his arm around her shoulders, giving her a gentle squeeze. "We are not finished discussing this."

Jeren looked at him skeptically. "What more is there to say? Lord Glorfindel has taken my acceptance; I will probably start in two weeks, or whenever your father deems me healed from this latest injury."

He shook his head, looking skyward, as if hoping for some sort of divine guidance. "Listen to yourself—your _latest_ injury? Does that not tell you something?"

"My bad luck is due to change, Elrohir."

He looked at her as if she'd lost her mind. "Is it bad luck, Jeren, or are you just in harm's way, when you have no business being there?"

"So then you believe it is lack of skill," she said, with what would have sounded like complete honesty, were she talking to a mere acquaintance. But the Elf could hear the echos of hurt in her voice.

He looked away from her for a moment, and then he abruptly got up from the bench, pulling her up beside him. He kissed her long and slow. "We will discuss this later, after I have had a chance to _try_ to see your side of it. Right now, I do not have the capacity."

She smiled, looking as if she'd won the war.

_But the battle was only beginning…_

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**A/N: Again, thanks so much for the reviews. They really keep me going... **yuemoon,******** heavenslilagl420, Southern Pride, American Pride, Duck, ******Nell******, ****dr3, Shycoyotegirl, Song in the Woods, Livia09, Sadie Sil, Brandibuckeye, Lady Anne, Teacalm, and Elfinabottle********.******  
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	25. Chapter 25

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"I know why you're doing this, Elrohir," Jeren said with just the slightest edge to her voice.

"And why would that be?" he asked her. He glanced up for a moment to look into her eyes, but quickly returned his gaze to the edge of the sword he was inspecting. His attention was then directed back to his task at hand. "I should have had this blade to the smith weeks ago." He tested the edge with his thumb, but finally put the sword back in its sheath. "No matter; it will still do the task."

"You can try and change the subject, but I will not be led astray. You are only doing this to upset me; but I am telling you, your tactics are not working."

"And I'm telling you that I am not doing what you accuse me of, Jeren," he said, his eyes meeting hers again. "I go because it's what I do. You know that."

Her smile was sardonic. "How coincidental; those are almost exactly the words I used on you yesterday. You are going on this mission to give me a taste of what it feels like to be left behind to worry over someone I love. The problem is, I already know how that feels. Your strategy is not working on me. Your denial makes it plain that you are lying to yourself, if not to me."

"I am lying to no one. The need is there; I am simply fulfilling it; it is my task as a warrior who dwells in Imladris."

They were both in his room, and Elrohir was preparing his gear for leaving on the morrow with Glorfindel's warriors, to hunt and kill the Orcs that she had found a few days ago. Jeren walked away from him, throwing back over her shoulder, "Well, I am not going to pine and fret over you. I know you will return to me unharmed. I have the utmost confidence in your ability as a swordsman; _unlike you_, who do not think I have the ability to fight off a lamb." She couldn't help the hurt tone that was apparent in her voice.

He approached her on silent feet, reaching out and lightly gripping her right arm, which was now without the sling. "I used to have confidence in your abilities, Jeren, even though it pained me to watch you ride out to do battle. You were more than adequate with your sword and extremely good with your bow. But this," and here his grip tightened slightly around the elbow of her injured arm, "—this is why I no longer have any confidence in your skill for keeping yourself out of harm's way. You only have use of three of your fingers, and you know that this arm does not have the strength or the quick response that you need any longer. This," and he shook her arm gently for emphasis, "is why I do not want you scouting for the Imladris force."

She disengaged herself from his grasp, peeling his fingers from her arm, wanting to rip it out of his hand instead, but she knew she wasn't able to do that yet. Not only was it weak to start with, but that's where she'd been shot with an arrow just two days ago—the pain would be too great. Walking out onto the veranda, she said, "As soon as it heals, I will continue training. Its strength will return. I know it will."

He followed her outside and placed his hands onto her shoulders. She faced the valley, but her attention was on him. She tried to twist out of his grip, but he wouldn't allow her to.

"I am glad you look to the bright side of things, Jeren, but there comes a time when you must be realistic." His voice was calm, his tone detached, as if he was just stating the facts as they were. "Even if the strength returns to your arm, your fingers will never work again. Sooner or later you are going to have to admit to yourself that battling is no longer in your future."

She rounded on him then, her face stricken with pain, but also lit with defiance. "I do not know that, Elrohir; nor do you! You are trying to undermine my confidence, just so that you can have your way. You would keep me under lock and key if you could, just to insure my safety. _If _I should ever endeavor to be your wife, you can be assured it will _not_ be as a lady of the house, sitting on velvet pillows with her embroidery in her lap, waiting for her valiant husband to return! I will die before I allow that to happen to me!"

"—Jeren, I did not mean—"

But his words were lost on her; she had already run from the room.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren lay awake, having slept fitfully for most of the night. It was quite early in the morning; so early she knew the warriors who were leaving today would still be abed. But they would leave in a few hours—and Elrohir would go with them.

Despite what she said to him in the heat of anger last evening, she did worry and fret over his departure—she'd just not wanted to give him the satisfaction of knowing it. She thought his going with the Imladris force now was a direct attempt at trying to give her a large dose of feeling the same way he had, when he'd watched her ride out on patrol. If only she could make him see that he didn't need to do that, because she already knew how it felt. She and her mother had watched as her father left them for months on end, never knowing whether he would return or not, just having to keep faith that he would. And she'd felt the same way when it had been Elrohir and Elladan riding away from Rivendell, back when she was in training, and they'd come home for rest or recuperation. They were Elves and their skill with the sword was great, but they could still be killed, and every time they rode away, there had been a small part of her wondering if she'd seen them for the final time.

All night long she had at turns been angry at him, and then sorrowful over the cross words they'd exchanged. In truth she was the only one who had said any cross words. He'd been kind, if cruel, in what he had said. The truth could be hard to hear, and she was afraid that he had told her exactly the truth: she would never be able to battle again.

She turned on her side, facing the veranda. It was still very dark, with no hint of morning creeping over the valley walls yet. A tear slipped down one of her cheeks, but she quickly wiped it away with the back of one hand.

_Was she just wishful thinking? Was it fact that her arm would never be right, and she would not ever be able to defend herself properly?_

As she pondered that question, her mind drifted back to the other day, when she'd been grappling on the ground with the Orc that had attacked her. She hadn't been thinking about her injured arm then, nor of its lack of strength. She'd not been thinking of anything at all, other than getting away. She'd kept her head—and her focus—even though she was scared to death. It had been her quick thinking—as well as being armed to the teeth—that had saved her life. Deep in her heart she felt that Elrohir was wrong. She had proved him wrong by killing that Orc, who, by all rights should have killed her. He'd had twice her weight and strength behind his attack.

But Elrohir still doubted her ability…

She sighed wistfully. Even being injured did not keep her from wanting to participate in this hunt. After all, the Orcs they were after were the ones she'd come across; the ones she'd reported to Lord Glorfindel. _They were hers…_

If only she were hale enough to go on this mission. But she was not—her arm was very sore from the arrow she'd taken, and she knew that she'd have to train for days, if not weeks, to work the stiffness out of it again.

But she knew that she could! She would! To blazes with what Elrohir thought!

And here she was, angry again…

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren slowly woke up a few hours later, to see Elrohir's silhouette outlined against the growing light of the morning. He stood looking out over the valley, although everything was cloaked in semi-darkness. Perhaps, being an Elf, he could see outside, but she, being Human, still could not. There was just barely enough light to make his form visible to her.

He turned his face toward her, and when he realized that she was looking back at him, he walked to the bed and sat down beside her. Even in the dimness she could see the sadness that he wore like a shroud.

She reached out to touch his face, and he captured her hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss her palm. "I am sorry, Jeren," he said. "I—"

She placed her fingers over his lips, stopping his words. "No need for that, now," she said, which was something he often said to her when she felt bad about something.

He smiled. "Yes, there is need. I spoke out of turn. I am sorry for saying those things to you. I was letting my worry color my words. There is no reason for you to believe you will never battle again. You fought hand-to-hand with an Orc—his handprints remain vivid around your throat—and even with your weakened arm you are still alive to talk about it. I'd say you did a very good job of defending yourself against that Orc…" He looked thoughtful for a moment, but she could tell when something devilish to say had occurred to him. His eyes squinted slightly as he said, "Although you never mentioned how he managed to get the jump on you—and get his hands around your neck in the first place."

She smiled slyly at him then. "It wasn't easy. I had to practically throw myself at him."

He laughed. "It is good to see your smile." He looked outside then, as if judging the time he still had before he would go down to the stable to get Saedren ready for riding. "As for this mission, I promise, I did not decide to join Glorfindel out of any spite to you. I just cannot sit here idle, and not go and help the others. You do understand. I know you do."

"I do, Elrohir," she said, "I just wanted to keep you here with me, I suppose. A few hours ago, when I woke and could not sleep, I was lying here wishing I could go along with you and the others. It is hard to be a warrior and be left behind when a fight is at hand." She sat up then and he embraced her tenderly.

"I am trying to accept that, Jeren—that you are a warrior. I have been fighting it for a while now, but I see I am fighting a battle that I cannot win. Nor do I really want to. If I did, you would be unhappy, and I wouldn't have that for anything. So I am going to try and make peace with myself as to your choice of profession." He paused for a moment, his expression reflective, then said, "I have been thinking about how we might both be able to live with you becoming a scout."

She raised an eyebrow, her earlier excitement about it returning full force. "Really, Elrohir? What have you been thinking?"

"I still need to think on it some more—make sure it is something that I truly want to do. Then I will tell you about it—or ask you—which would be the more appropriate thing to do."

"Why not ask me about it now, and that way I can also be thinking it over, and then we can compare thoughts when you return?"

He looked at her intently for a moment or two, then nodded his head. "What I've been thinking about is possibly becoming a scout along with you. That way we would be together, and I would be assured you are as safe as you can possibly be, since you would be with me." He smiled arrogantly as he finished his comment.

She laughed at his total self-assurance, but sobered quickly. "I don't know, Elrohir," she said, frowning warily. "Then I will be worried about you. Your being unable to keep focused when we both fought in the same battle is in a roundabout way how we got to this point in the first place. I think we will be going in circles were we to try this. I will consider it, though. Like you, I needs think on it some more. There might be several reasons I really do not want to do this, I just have not thought of them yet."

He chuckled quietly, and glanced outside again. "That is well. But now, I must be going. Give a departing warrior a kiss that will see him through the cold nights he will be without you."

She grinned broadly, telling him, "The nights are not cold, Elrohir. Trust me; I've just been camping myself..."

He pulled her to him, pretending to be rough, but not succeeding. "Hush and kiss me."

So she did…

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"They were a stupid bunch, for sure; they'd not moved two leagues from where Jeren and Locien left them at the river," Glorfindel said, just before the music started in the Hall of Fire. He took a healthy drink of his wine. "It was one of the most straightforward missions I've ever been on. That is what good scouting garners."

While he'd not even looked at her when he'd made the remark, everyone knew Jeren was responsible for the thorough report that made those Orcs easily picked off. Since she was standing right beside him, she blushed and lowered her eyes.

They were all in the Hall of Fire, three nights after the Imladris warriors had set off on the mission to find and kill the Orcs that had chased Jeren and Locien halfway home. The warriors from Imladris had found the loathsome group the very day they'd set out, then spent the next day leisurely setting up plans for the kill. The following morning they'd done the work, taking the time to burn all the bodies and tend to their own wounded, which weren't many. And now they were celebrating the fact that no one was killed except Orcs, and the world was free of one more horde of the creatures.

Jeren had been elated when she saw them return, unable to believe that they'd been gone such a short while. Since she'd had nothing else to do, she had spent the past two afternoons waiting for their return on the back steps, as she generally did when the others left without her. She truly had not been expecting them back so soon, but being injured, she'd had no other tasks she could undertake—not even training by herself. So she'd used the time in the mornings to read—again—the book by Lord Aragorn about battle strategies. She could almost recite it by heart now. And in the late afternoons, she would wander to the back of the house, near the stables, and sit on the steps longing for Elrohir's return, although she would never let on that that was what she was doing.

"I did not do it alone," Jeren said to those gathered around them, who had raised their glasses to her. She spied Locien in the crowd and she wanted to make a toast to him, but she was afraid he would be more than reluctant to celebrate about anything concerning that day in the woods. Since he'd quit being part of the border patrol, she decided this whole incident was something he'd probably rather forget.

Saeldur and Feredir pulled Locien forward into their midst, and Elrohir gave the drink in his hand to the Elf. Locien's eyes met Jeren's and he smiled. He still had a mighty bruise on his temple where the arrow had grazed him, and stitches besides. But he looked considerably happier now than the last time she had seen him.

Elrohir grabbed Jeren's hand, and pulled her toward a quieter, more secluded corner of the hall. He took her glass of wine from her and placed it on a small table that sat in front of a nearby bench. His lips were soft on her mouth when he kissed her, and when they parted they were both wanting more.

"When I'm away from you I feel incomplete," he said, the backs of his fingers brushing her face.

She pulled him to her again, her lips hungry for his.

"Children," Lord Elrond said, when he materialized at their sides, "I would speak with you, please."

Jeren jumped back from Elrohir as if he were made of flame and she might get scorched by his nearness. Elrohir just tightened his jaw at his father's intrusion, letting his now empty arms fall to his sides.

"What is it, Father?" he asked, and anyone could have heard the irritation in his voice. Although he'd been civil to the Elf lord since they'd had words about Jeren leaving, he'd not quite forgiven his father for his part in Jeren's latest injury.

"Not here, if you do not mind," Elrond said. "Somewhere more private."

"If you are planning on giving us more lectures on the dangers of mixing our races by bonding, then I hardly see the point."

Elrond smiled, almost sadly, but said, "I have nothing like that in mind. The opposite, in fact. Would you hear me out?"

Jeren took Elrohir's hand, squeezing it before she made an answer. "Of course, Lord Elrond; where would we go?"

"Just follow me," he said, with another of those smiles that Jeren thought belonged only to her.

He led them upstairs, but when they reached the landing at the top, instead of going straight down the hall and to the bedchambers of the family, they took a right turn, going down a hallway that Jeren had hardly ever explored. It was the wing where guests were usually housed when they visited. They stopped at the very first door on the right, and Lord Elrond opened it, inviting them to enter before him.

Elrohir smiled and gave his father a knowing look. The lamps had been lit, so there was no question that this visit had been planned by the Elf lord. Jeren hadn't caught the exchange between the two Elves; she was too in awe of the beautiful room.

The door they'd entered opened into an elegant sitting room, with a dark blue brocade sofa and chair, each having tables for lamps beside them. The lamps themselves were works of art, their bases and shades made of leaded crystal, and when the lamps were lit, small rainbow reflections danced on the tabletops. The artwork on the walls was exquisite, too, and before Jeren had examined the paintings to her liking, the Elf lord was opening another door, further into the room.

Elrohir's hand at the small of her back urged her forward again, and when she entered the actual bedchamber, her jaw dropped. The bed was a huge, canopied affair, the drapes upon the frame done in a heavy midnight blue material. The furniture was made of the richest cherry wood, the burnished surfaces almost glowing from the care they'd been lavished with over their centuries of use. There was a huge wardrobe—larger than any Jeren had ever seen before—the carvings on it ornate and in intricate detail. There was a matching dressing table and various lamp tables throughout the room. A fireplace adorned one wall, and it did double-duty; it could be used from either the sitting room or the bedchamber.

The chamber itself was much like her own and Elrohir's, in that it opened out onto a spacious veranda, which was easily twice the size of both of theirs combined. There was a cushioned sofa in the middle of the stone floor and a larger table and chairs outside under the eave of the roof.

Elrohir looked at the Elf lord with gratitude. "Thank you, Father."

Jeren looked puzzled for a moment, glancing from one Elf to the other. Elrond explained. "I would have you and Elrohir housed here, if you would want it, as a bonding gift from his mother and me."

Jeren was stunned and didn't know what to say. So she smiled and walked the few steps to hug him closely. He embraced her in return, kissing the top of her head.

"I don't know how to thank you, my lord," she said as she stepped back, grasping Elrohir's hand tightly. "It is beautiful. We will cherish the gift, always."

"I know I have not been a supporter of your desire to bond, but since I can see that it is inevitable, I would not have us at odds any longer." Elrond looked to them both as he said this, but as he finished, his gaze was set upon his son. "I know it must seem as if I deign to run your life; but that is not so, Elrohir. I am your father. I have cherished you since the moment you were conceived. I cannot turn the emotion on or off at will. I hope that one day you and Jeren may also know this kind of love."

Elrond tentatively held his arms open, inviting his son's embrace, and Elrohir gladly accepted the overture. "Thank you, Father," he said again. "You will see; all will be well. Keep the faith you've always shown in me. I will not fail in this, in any facet."

Elrond stepped back, his face awash with emotion. "I will try to, Elrohir." He looked at them both again. "About your bonding, I would perform your rite, if you will have me do it. Or you can choose someone else of your liking. But it can be whenever you say. Tomorrow, if that is your will."

Elrohir smiled and looked at Jeren expectantly, awaiting her answer.

"I would love that, Lord Elrond," she said. Looking back to her betrothed, she asked, "Is tomorrow soon enough for you?"

Elrohir took her into his arms, saying, "Not really; but if it is your will, then I will abide by it."

She laughed, and then turning to Elrond said, "Tomorrow evening it shall be, if it can be arranged on such short notice."

"It can be," Elrond assured her. "Now, I will leave you to examine your new quarters more closely. Good night."

They bid him good night in return, and then walked hand in hand out onto their new veranda. Elrohir pulled her down onto the couch beside him and kissed her sweetly. "How do you like that?" he asked. "Not only has he come around, he has given us a splendid gift. I think he knew I always had my eye on this room."

Jeren laughed again, placing her hand on his chest. "It is amazing." She looked back over their shoulders in awe at the beautiful room. "My heart finally feels light again. I hated being in discord with him. I love him so much, and I knew I was hurting him…"

He kissed her again to stop her chatter. "All is well now. That is what is important."

He pulled her into his arms to rest against his shoulder, and together they sat, looking out over the beauty of nighttime in Imladris.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The next day seemed to start before the sun was up good, with Naith knocking on Jeren's door very early, waking her from a sound sleep.

"Come in," Jeren croaked, as she rubbed her eyes and sat up.

Naith came in all a-flutter, going directly to Jeren's wardrobe and throwing the doors wide. She thumbed through the clothes she found hanging there, and obviously found nothing to her liking. She all but slammed the wardrobe doors closed, and turned toward Jeren, her eyes almost frantic. "What were you planning to wear tonight?"

Jeren shook her head, not yet following the Elf's train of thought. "What are you talking about, Naith?" she asked groggily.

She and Elrohir had stayed late in 'their room' last night, talking and kissing, until Jeren told him if he wasn't planning on bonding right then, he was going to have leave her alone for the night. So he'd brought her back here, and he'd thought to part from her at her door, but he'd kissed her so deeply that Jeren had dragged him inside, threatening to finish what he had started—again. He'd finally left her in the wee hours of this morning—his virtue still intact—but barely.

"Do you not remember… your_ bonding _rite?" Naith said, as if she were dropping hints, just waiting for the woman to catch on.

Jeren lay back down, pulling the covers up over her shoulders and nestling her face against her pillow again. "Oh, is _that_ all…"

Naith marched to the bed and grabbed hold of the linen covering Jeren and gave it a quick pull, divesting the woman of any cover at all.

"Hey!" she wailed, hoisting herself up onto one elbow. "I'm not ready to get up yet. If this is my wedding day—excuse me, my bonding day—I should be allowed to sleep until I have slept my fill. Now go away!" She could not believe they were even discussing something as mundane as clothing—and so early in the morning, too.

And then she shot straight up in the bed. "Oh no!" she said, almost in a whisper. "I have nothing suitable, do I?"

"That is why I am here, and so early, too," Naith said, much more kindly than Jeren deserved. "If I can get you to come look at some of my gowns, we can have one of them altered and there will be no problem. Now will you get up?"

Naith did not have to ask Jeren twice. The woman shot from the bed and disappeared into her bathing room.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

An hour later Jeren was in the dining hall to break her fast with everyone else. She did not know if Elves held to the same superstitions as Humans did, such as the husband-to-be not being able to see his intended before the rite, but right now she did not especially care. She was ravenous this morning, and no one and nothing was going to stop her from eating her fill.

She and Naith had gone to the Elf's closet and had found a suitable gown to be altered for Jeren's bonding rite. Unfortunately, Jeren did not have an eye for such things, so she was bound to Naith's rule and, to Jeren, the process had been a tedious string of trying on gown after gown, attempting to decide which color suited her and which did not; checking the cuts of the styles to see which was most flattering to her figure—and which was not.

She did not care—they all looked the same to her—fairly outlandish on a warrior. She was just short of despairing over the picture she would present to one and all at the rite later this evening. She'd never been one for frippery or dressing up, and the results always looked the same to her—as if she were just playing at dress-up, and not very good at it besides.

She sat at her regular place across from Elrohir, and he gave her a winning smile for it being so early in the morning. She tried to smile back, but wasn't sure she accomplished it. The meal went without much comment from anyone. Elrohir asked Glorfindel if he could spare some time for him and Jeren this morning. The ancient warrior looked surprised, but did not comment other than telling Elrohir that they could come to the armory right after this meal. And Lord Elrond confirmed the time and the place for the rite to occur. It would be held at sunset, in the family's garden, and then they would have a reception in the Hall of Fire. Dancing… Something Jeren knew naught of.

As they left the dining hall after eating, Elrohir took her hand and they went together to the armory. Glorfindel was already in his office, again pushing parchments and other papers into piles, that only he would be able to find anything in at any given point of time. He looked up at them as they entered the room.

"What has the two of you visiting the war room so early on the morning of your bonding?"

"War, Glorfindel," Elrohir stated plainly.

"So the two of you are already butting heads? I could have predicted that would happen."

Elrohir gave Glorfindel a scathing look, but then said, "No, Jeren and I are not at odds. But we do have something to discuss with you, and it does concern warring."

One of Glorfindel's brows rose slowly. "Speak, then."

"You have offered Jeren a position as scout with the Imladris force. She has accepted. As her betrothed, I object—strongly. What have you to offer to remedy this situation?"

"Do not bond with one another?" he asked innocently enough, although both Jeren and Elrohir could see he was jesting with them by the sardonic curl of his lips. He quickly sobered, and looking at Jeren, he said in all seriousness, "You should find someone to bond with who does not object. You are a natural-born scout, and to not use that talent because someone _whines_ would be an errant path to follow."

Elrohir sighed, exasperated. "Glorfindel, I did not come in here to listen to you disparage me." He looked away in annoyance. When he had his anger controlled, he said, "Since you have no useful solutions to our problem, we have decided on one of our own. That is, unless _you_ whine about it."

Glorfindel's jaw tightened perceptibly after that remark. "And what is this remedy you have come to present me with?" he asked, no longer in a jesting sort of mood at all.

"I would rejoin the force myself, and go along on with Jeren on her scouting missions—"

Glorfindel looked at Elrohir as if he'd just spouted blasphemy, but then he pinned his steely gaze on Jeren. "—what say you to this plan of his? Need you him in particular to babysit you?"

Jeren took a deep breath, not wanting to anger either of the Elves. "I do not need a sitter, my lord; I am fully capable of fulfilling the role as scout without Elrohir along. But it would ease his mind were he with me—at first. When he is able to see for himself there is naught to worry about, then he can cease the scouting and resume that which he usually does—ride with his brother and the Dúnedain."

"I did _not_ agree to that, Jeren," Elrohir said in protest.

"Only because we had not gotten that far in the negotiation of it," she said diplomatically, but her expression was one that brooked no argument. "Even you must agree it is a good plan, if you feel you must keep watch over me at all."

Elrohir gave her a long look, letting her know that this 'negotiation' was not over, but then glanced back at Glorfindel. "Well, what do you say? Will you have me back with the force on a full-time—but temporary—basis?" Jeren smiled at his choice of words.

Glorfindel considered the prospect. He truly had no need or desire for either of the sons of Elrond to be under his command any more. Because that was the problem—they did not stay under his command. They tended to take on much too much responsibility, leaving him clueless at times as to what was or was not going to occur. That was no way to lead warriors.

After the twins had become seasoned fighters, they had begun to lead within the ranks, which was a noble trait, but at times the orders of the commander were cast aside in the process. The twins had not made bad decisions; it was just that it wasn't their rank at the time to take on such responsibility. It wasn't that Glorfindel resented their eagerness to lead; it was more that he needed order when it came to defenses. And even harsh discipline had not cured the twins of doing this. So he and Elrond had conferred at the time, and they had agreed that the twins needed the experience of command, so they had allowed them to take as much initiative as they would. They were never given the official title of co-commanders, but that was their task. The endeavor had definitely taxed Glorfindel's patience. He liked running a much tighter operation than one with a confused chain of command. A force needed only one leader—definitely not two or three.

The Elf lord looked at Jeren for quite a long while, as if wondering if her expertise at scouting was worth the trouble it might cause. After a few more moments of pondering, he asked Elrohir, "Only as a scout? You have no plans of taking command?"

Elrohir looked askance at Glorfindel for a minute, but quickly toned down his expression. He thought about his past history with Glorfindel, and had to admit that his old Arms Master had a valid question. At one time he and Elladan had commanded the Imladris force. It had been a subtle and informal coup, in that Glorfindel was the commander in name, and they conferred with him about strategies and timing, but he and Elladan would call the orders when orders were to be called.

Elrohir had not thought a great deal about Glorfindel possibly resenting that intrusion. He and Elladan had been young, and although there had been no formal changing of the command, they had felt it was their rightful due, that after they'd proved themselves in battle—both in bearing of arms and in directing skirmishes—that they should take the place at the head of Imladris' defenses. Actually, it had been Elladan's desire to lead that had taken them down that path. Elladan had been the true leader, and it was by his persuasion that Elrohir had gone along at all. Elladan had always been the stronger between the two of them when it came to most everything, and others naturally followed him—somewhat the same as Glorfindel.

That had been before their mother had been taken by Orcs, and before their fight against the beasts had become very personal. After their mother's rescue, their father thought it not wise that they command at all while their feelings ran so high, and that is when they took up with the Dúnedain. The Dúnedain already had a commander—their Chieftain—so there was no temptation there; no way for the twins—Elladan in particular—to try and take over.

But they had at times split from both groups, taking some volunteers—both seasoned warriors and novices from Imladris—and they would scout Orcs until they found some. Elladan seemed to need his thirst for leadership, as well as bloodlust, satisfied sometimes, and they would form independent hunting parties, directing the group on their own, calling their own commands, slaying Orcs in any way they felt necessary. That is what they had been doing when they'd come upon Jeren ten years ago. Since then, they'd not had the desire or the occasion to go off on their own again. They'd felt that riding with the Dúnedain, and having more contact with Estel, was more in line with their goals at this time in their lives. In truth, the longer Estel was Chieftain, the more content Elladan seemed in the role he now had, and having his brother more at ease was very valuable to Elrohir.

He had not thought that his old teacher had been that bothered back at the time when he and Elladan had assumed control of the Imladris force, but he could have been wrong. Nothing would be gained by the fight he would get from the Arms Master if he answered him now in the sarcastic way he wanted to answer. He had already pushed the boundaries between them this morning, and Glorfindel deserved more respect than Elrohir had shown him today. "I have no such plans. Scouting only."

"Jeren?" Glorfindel asked. "Is this what you want?"

She hesitated just the briefest moment, because it wasn't in truth what she really wanted. But it would make Elrohir feel better, and if she could show him personally that she was capable of defending herself, he would soon be out of her hair and she could resume with her plans. In truth, she feared the 'butting of heads' with Elrohir that Glorfindel had warned her about before. "I do want this, Lord Glorfindel," she finally answered.

Glorfindel didn't hesitate again in telling Elrohir plainly, "Very well. When Jeren starts, so do you—as a scout. You are both dismissed."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

It was time.

The bonding rite was scheduled to begin in twenty minutes and Jeren was extremely nervous. It did not take a genius to figure out why she was so beside herself. She was wearing a borrowed gown and borrowed shoes, and her hair had been piled upon her head in a style so perfect that she did not even recognize herself when she glanced into the mirror. She was going to wed an Elf and Elves would be in attendance, and she would feel so out of place in comparison, even as dressed up as she was, that she didn't know if she'd be able to keep from fainting. In everyday life she was at ease with them all—she was who she was and dressed accordingly. But today, in an Elven gown and shoes, attending an Elven rite, she felt completely alien dressed as she was. A Woman masquerading as an Elleth? A warrior pretending to be a lady? No trace of the ranger or warrior could be detected in her at all right now.

She sighed. The fragrance of the flowers in the garland upon her head, while made from blossoms she usually found delightful, threatened to make her gag with its sweetness. She took another deep breath…

And Naith thrust a snifter of brandy at her. "Here, drink this," she said.

Jeren turned her nose up at the proffered drink, pushing it away with the palm of her hand. But Naith insisted. "You must relax, Jeren," she said. "You are as stiff as steel, and Elrohir is going bruise himself from head to toe if he tries to make love to you in the state you are in."

Jeren gasped at the Elleth, very surprised by the bawdy comment, but started laughing when the Elf did. Naith had been trying very hard to lighten Jeren's mood, and this was the first positive response she'd gotten from her since the woman had donned the gown. Naith pushed the glass into the Jeren's hand, guiding it to her lips and making sure she took a healthy sip. Jeren grimaced as the liquid fire went down her throat. She coughed once, but then took another sip of her own accord. After a few minutes, she began to feel the effects of the liquor—she was slowly relaxing.

In the next few minutes Jeren was going to meet Elrohir at the back of the house near the stables, so that they could ride in a coach, of all things, to the garden where the rite was to be held. Jeren did not see the need; she was still capable of walking, even in the fancy shoes she was wearing. But Naith insisted that Jeren had to ride to the garden. If she walked the entire way, there was every chance that she'd muss her hair or soil her gown or shoes.

Jeren couldn't remember a time in her life that she had ever even thought to worry about such things. She took another sip of the brandy.

Elrohir. Her heart quickened when she thought about him and how they would finally make love later tonight. It had been a long time in coming; but she thought, perhaps, the wait might have made the experience just that much sweeter.

Naith stood Jeren up before the mirror to admire her handiwork. The Elleth smiled broadly. "You're beautiful," she said sincerely.

"Well, that proves that I do not look at all like myself!" Jeren said, hoping that Naith would rise to her baiting, so that the tables would turn and she could now laugh at the Elf.

But Naith did not take up the challenge; she just stood there looking at Jeren. The woman was indeed beautiful. She wore a filmy gown of the lightest pink, with a low neckline that showed just the hint of cleavage. The bodice was snug, and it tapered to a point just below her waist. The skirt was not very full, the back much longer than the front, so that it flowed in a train behind her when she walked. The sleeves were fitted against her arms like a second skin, coming to a point on the tops of her hands, just below her wrists. It was a dress unlike anything that Jeren had ever worn before, and she feared that any misstep she might make would rip it to shreds.

On second thought, maybe riding to the rite was the right thing to do. She took one more sip of the brandy, licking her lips. _She was growing to like this drink very well…_

Naith had spent the entire afternoon trying to teach Jeren to 'glide' as she walked, not 'stomp', as if she were wearing her boots. They'd spent a good deal of time laughing, and that had helped ease some of Jeren's tension. Naith had even given her the basics of some of the less intricate dances, so that she could enjoy the reception after the rite. It wasn't as if Naith hadn't tried to teach her the dances before, but Jeren couldn't be persuaded to learn, back when she was younger. Jeren had then been put in a bathtub with fragrant oil added to the water, where she'd lazed for almost an hour. Then it was time for business—hair washing and drying and styling. All in all it had been a nice afternoon.

But now it was time…

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Jeren, why are you so tense?" Elrohir asked her, as he helped her into the coach that would carry them to their bonding ceremony. It was an impressive conveyance made of wood so pale as to appear white, drawn by two black horses. Their coats had been brushed until they gleamed.

The minute Jeren had seen Elrohir, her nerves came back full force. He was impeccable, and that had reminded her how very strange she appeared, no longer in her tunic and leggings, but dressed in this stunning gown. She tried to smile, but didn't think she'd accomplished her goal, especially when Elrohir's frown deepened.

She'd never seen him look so splendid! He was dressed all in white, from the formal robes of his station as a son of Elrond, to his white doeskin leggings and boots. A gold circlet sat on his brow. His hair was elaborately braided, much in the style of his father, giving him the air of nobility that he seldom had in his everyday life. As soon as Jeren was seated, he sat down beside her and the carriage started moving.

"Jeren?" he repeated, as he kissed her lightly, and then licked his lips. "Ah, brandy!" he said with a smile, but the smile dimmed when he added, "although you can't be drunk, as stiff as you are."

Jeren laughed at him then and she could see the relief on his face. His comment had reminded her of what Naith had jestingly said earlier. "I am just nervous, Elrohir," she finally admitted. "It isn't every day I dress up and get married, you know..."

He gazed at her appreciatively. "Everything about you is perfect," he said. "No need to feel self-conscious." He kissed her lightly again. "I always think you're beautiful, whether you're in leggings or—" he lifted his brows, "—nothing at all."

She laughed again, looking away as she blushed.

He took her hand in his and she watched him grow serious. "So, are you ready for this?" he asked. "I know our union will not be perfect, but unions seldom are."

Jeren smiled before she said, "Yes, Elrohir, and a thousand times yes—I am ready. More than ready. And I am going into our union with my eyes wide open. I know we will have difficulties—we always have, haven't we? But I think we have learned to compromise with one another very well. Along with a heart full of love, that's all one can ask for in a mate—someone who will listen and try to see the other's point of view."

He kissed her more deeply, and when he would have pulled away, she held him to her. When their lips broke apart slightly, she said, "But are _you_ ready?" She'd whispered the question, her voice so sultry that there was no doubt as to what she meant.

He broke into a sunny smile that made Jeren laugh again, and then they both sat back in the coach to ride the rest of the way in happy silence.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**A/N: Again, thanks so much for the reviews. They really keep me going... yuemoon, heavenslilagl420, Southern Pride, American Pride, Duck, Nell, dr3, Shycoyotegirl, Song in the Woods, Livia09, Sadie Sil, Brandibuckeye, Lady Anne, Teacalm, and Elfinabottle.**


	26. Chapter 26

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"We are here this evening to celebrate the bonding of my son Elrohir and his chosen wife Jeren. Though leagues upon leagues may separate both Jeren and Elrohir from some of those whom they would have here to help commemorate their bonding, they know that those hearts are, as are all of ours, with them today as they take this next step in their lives."

Elrohir and Jeren stood in the center of the crowd of Elves before Elrond, who was officiating the rite of their bonding. They faced each other, their hands joined, as Elrond spoke, and even though it was a solemn affair, Jeren could see the devilment in Elrohir's eyes as he looked into hers, and she was hard pressed not to laugh. There was simply no way to be nervous with Elrohir standing there making sure that she wasn't.

"All here present know Jeren, daughter of Anardil and Jennah, both of the Dúnedain, but both also gone beyond the veil of our presence. I am sure wherever they dwell, their hearts are gladdened this evening by the bonding of my son and their daughter." Elrond smiled on the couple and he held out his hand, which contained the rings they would exchange.

Jeren had asked Naith about bonding customs as soon as it became apparent that she would wed Elrohir. Weeks ago she had asked the smith to cast Elrohir's wedding band for her, using the gold from the rings of her parents. Their wedding rings were the only things she'd kept of theirs, aside from Anardil's grey cloak and the star pin he'd worn as a ranger. The resulting ring was already dear to her, and would be even more so when she saw it upon her husband's finger from now until the day she died.

The ring that Elrohir was about to place upon her hand took her breath away. Since it was a deep golden color, she was sure it must be made from the finest ore possible. The gold from her parents' rings was pale in comparison, but she knew that it didn't matter, that Elrohir would treasure the ring as much as she did, when he found out where she had obtained the gold. She watched the surprise on his face, when he saw that she had a ring for him at all. He obviously hadn't expected one.

Elrohir took her right hand in his and said, "May the Valar shine upon our bonding in all Their glory. My life will be joined with yours and together we will be one, but separate." As he slipped the ring onto her right index finger, he said, "I love you as I love no other, and I promise to hold you dear to me all the days of my life." He kissed her hand as he awaited her vow.

"May the Valar shine upon our bonding in all Their glory," Jeren repeated. "My life will be joined with yours and together we will be one, but separate." She pushed the ring onto his finger, and then finished, "I love you as I love no other, and I promise to hold you dear to me all the days of my life."

Elrond embraced the two of them, and then said, "May Eru Ilúvatar shine on them in all His glory. Their lives will be joined, and together they shall be one, but separate." Elrond paused, and looking out to the crowd, announced, "It is time for our feast!"

The Elves all gathered closer to embrace the couple and one by one they drifted away to gather in the Hall of Fire. As soon as they were alone, Elrond turned to Jeren and said, "Welcome to our family, Young One." And then he embraced her.

Near tears, Jeren said, "I love you, Lord Elrond—"

He interrupted her, saying, "—ah, but now I am your father indeed. You must address me as such."

A tear slipped down her cheek as her smile beamed. "Father… Thank you for everything, especially for forgiving me for loving your son. I mean him no harm and no one will ever love him more than I do, unless it is you and your lady wife."

Hoping to lighten her mood again, Elrohir tugged on Jeren's hand, saying, "I'm hungry! It's time to feast!"

She hugged him fiercely. "Let's go get you fed, then," she said, and the three of them got into the waiting coach, and they were driven to the banquet in the Hall of Fire.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The Hall had been set up for feasting, long tables placed in a U shape, with the head table elevated above the others, where the family and closest friends sat. It was a merry meal, with much laughter and lively conversation. Just before the tables were cleared and then moved away so that the dancing could begin, Glorfindel proposed a toast:

"May your days be brighter, your nights _warmer_,"—here all in attendance laughed, as the ancient warrior had expected them to— "and the years ahead blessed with all the good things you deserve."

Everyone cheered and drank to the newly bonded couple. Their eyes seldom strayed from each other, and their clasped hands never parted. Elrohir whispered into Jeren's ear, "How long should we dance, before we leave to go up to our room?"

Jeren shuddered, feeling his hot breath against her ear and neck. "You tell me—I've never even attended an Elvish wedding before, so I do not know the conventions of such things."

"Well, there's conventions, and then there's _my_ conventions," he said, his smile cunning. But as she watched, his smile tempered, and he added, "In all honesty, we're supposed to wait until my father excuses us. Since we are finally on good terms with him again, I think I will not go out of my way to embarrass him. Let's just hope he releases us in a timely manner."

He looked at her with question in his eyes then. "Do you want to dance, Jeren?"

"I think you mean to ask me _can_ I dance, do you not, my husband?" When his expression turned somewhat sheepish, she laughed. "I know we are expected to at least dance to the very first tune, aren't we?"

He nodded, but said, "Not if you do not wish it. We will do what you will, not necessarily what is custom."

"I do wish it, Elrohir," she said to reassure him, because she could sense his slight uneasiness. She could not tell whether it was because he thought she might embarrass him with her clumsy attempt at dancing, or if he thought that she might forsake this custom. But she was going to do her best, and hopefully, she would do neither thing. About that time the music began, and he offered her his arm, leading her onto the dance floor.

She surprised not only him, but herself as well, with her knowledge of the dance steps. She had been so nervous when Naith had been teaching her the dances, that she hadn't been sure if any of the instructions had indeed made it through to her brain. But while she wasn't as graceful at dancing as her husband was, neither was she slowing them down with missteps and tripping. That alone was worth much to her. And the fact that she could do the dance steps _and_ talk at the same time—without watching where her feet were landing—was a boon as well.

"Elrohir, I know that rites aren't customary in Elvish weddings—or bondings—I suppose I should say. Was it all changed for my benefit?"

He smiled at her, saying, "And if it was? Would that bother you?"

"Not precisely bother," she said, measuring her words carefully. "I just wondered how much out of the ordinary our bonding has been from one when those being bonded are both Elves."

"Usually there is only this feast, and the rings and words are exchanged beforehand. Elves do not meet for a formal ceremony. So yes, the rite was mostly for your benefit. I hope you do not mind. I loved our rite, even if it was something that isn't customary among my people—perhaps because it was so unusual."

Jeren kissed him lightly. "So did you suggest it to your father, so that I would feel more 'married', as by my Human customs?"

He raised his brows as he told her, "No, as a matter of fact, my father suggested it to me. I thought it a fine idea. I hope you hadn't been counting on a purely Elvish bonding experience."

Jeren chuckled at his choice of words, but said, "I didn't have my heart set on it, Elrohir. I only wanted the two of us married, wedded, bonded—whatever it took to—you know…" She blushed slightly and he hugged her closer as they danced. "I loved the rite as well, though," she said, after a minute, and then a questioning expression came over her face. "The words that we spoke; were they traditional, or were they entirely made up by you?"

He kissed her on the nose, and said, "They were straight from my own heart." He frowned slightly, and added, "I suppose they were somewhat traditional, in that others say basically the same types of things, but most of the time Elves make up their own bonding vows. Some can get very long-winded." At Jeren's quiet laugh, he asked, "Did I not ask for your input in the composition of ours? Perhaps you misunderstood me?"

She smiled, "Oh no, Elrohir. I understood. But the words you suggested to me last night in our room seemed perfect to me. I could not improve on them at all, so I just repeated what you'd said." She looked a little pensive. "I didn't do the wrong thing, did I?"

He smiled in an almost indulgent way, making Jeren wonder if perhaps he was teasing her. But he finally said, "You did nothing wrong, Jeren."

She laid her chin on his shoulder, leaning her face against the side of his neck. She took a deep breath, reveling in the scent of him. She had often wondered just what soap he used when he bathed or washed his hair. Whatever it was, she loved the way it left him smelling. She vaguely questioned when this dance was going to end…

"Just keep resting your head against me, Jeren," Elrohir whispered as he laid his hand on her hair. "If Father sees you are tired, he will excuse us sooner."

Jeren looked up at him and laughed. "Elrohir! You are such a scoundrel!"

But he guided her head back onto his shoulder. "Maybe I am, but I'm also a newly bonded Elf, in need of being close to his mate—very close." Jeren tried to stifle her laughter, and she leaned even more heavily on Elrohir.

The dance was concluded just a few short steps later, and the two of them walked to the side of the room where drinks were being handed out. He accepted a glass of wine from one of the servers there, handing it to Jeren and then taking another for himself. They were immediately engulfed by the crowd, individuals toasting the couple until both of their glasses were dry.

Elrohir looked at his wife wryly, and whispered into her ear, "I would have you sober for our first night together."

"I'm 'fraid it's too late for that!" Jeren said aloud with a laugh, as she hoisted her empty glass aloft and someone from the crowd filled it again. He laughed with her, but then switched his empty glass for her full one and he took a long drink. "Here's to Jeren!" he sent up for the others. They all cheered and Elrohir drank again.

The crowd parted as Elrond approached, and he held up his hands for silence. "It is growing late; it must be time for our happy couple to retire for the night." He offered his arm to Jeren amid a few bawdy comments being made, mostly by the males in the group, as the Ellith laughed quietly. Elrond and Jeren led the way, and Elrohir followed them closely. As soon as they were back inside the house, Elrond handed off his new daughter-in-law to her husband. "I believe you can take it from here?" His raised brow and half-smile made Elrohir cringe for a moment of uneasiness. It was one thing to make love to your wife. It was another when you knew that everyone around you—including your father—knew you were going to be doing it.

Taking Jeren's hand, he led her up the staircase and into their new room. He walked her through the sitting room, and then he opened the door of their bedchamber, allowing her entrance before him.

She gasped in surprise when she saw that all her things had been moved here. Her weapons leaned against the left side of the wardrobe, just where she'd had them in her room. Her brush and comb were on the dressing table. And the quilt that her mother had made for her was lying across the bench that stood at the foot of the bed. She opened the wardrobe and her clothes were there. She turned to Elrohir, the question on her face.

"I had thought we would move ourselves in tomorrow, so that we could decide how we wanted to store our things. It looks as if someone has beaten us to it."

"I'll bet it was Naith," Jeren said, her voice filled with gratitude. She and Naith hadn't always been the best of friends, not when Jeren had been interested in Elladan and had been jealous of his attentions to the Elleth. But since Jeren had become a ranger and had come back with the grave injury to her arm, Naith had become a much better friend. Jeren was glad. She didn't have many female friends. She didn't generally have much in common with others of her gender.

Elrohir took off his robe, draping it across a chair. He placed the circlet atop the dresser, where he would put some of his clothes and other belongings tomorrow. He started unbuttoning his shirt, heaving a big sigh when the top one was unfastened from around his throat.

"Mayhap I should go find Naith," Jeren said, a small smile on her lips.

Elrohir frowned at her, as if she might have taken leave of her senses, but understanding dawned when she turned her back toward him and he saw the long, continuous row of tiny buttons that fastened Jeren's gown.

"At least let me make the attempt," he said, as he plied his fingers to his new task. After he'd undone at least a dozen, and had only made it a third of the way down her back, he stopped and kissed her neck. "How about I just rip it the rest of the way?" he asked as his lips caressed the sensitive skin behind her ear.

"Just get a few more, and then I can reach them myself," she said dreamily, while trying to contain her own emotions.

"Ah, but you don't understand," he said, his voice growing ragged. "I'm not sure I can wait that long…"

She turned around to face him, kissing him long and slow, her own fingers now working at the buttons of his shirt. She soon had them all undone, and drew the cloth down his shoulders, sliding it along his arms, allowing the garment to fall to the floor.

He captured her hands and turned her around again. "We cannot continue in this vein or I will indeed render this gown a rag when I rip from your back." After a few more of the buttons had been unfastened, he added, under his breath, "If only there was some sort of magic that could have these undone in an instant!" A few more buttons gave way. "We've waited this long…" Frustrated after he'd only gotten a few more of the buttons undone, he placed his hands on each side of the opening, and was about to tear it asunder, desperate to get to the woman inside the dress.

Jeren laughed—she couldn't help herself—but she turned around quickly and gave him a small kiss. "I think you have accomplished your goal, Elrohir. Let me go into the bathing room to finish. You turn down the bed and I will join you very soon." He looked at her skeptically, as if he doubted she would be as quick as he wished her to be. She laughed again, and left him standing there, looking after her wistfully, as if she might disappear if he let her out of his sight.

Jeren closed the door of the bathing room, leaning against it for a moment. She, too, wished the blasted dress could be magically undone, so that she could get on with the business of consummating her marriage! She took a deep breath to calm herself, breathing as deeply as she could in the tight dress, and she started undoing the buttons, and before too long had the gown opened far enough that she could step out of it. She hung it on a hanger that seemed to miraculously be there—she suspected Naith again. She took off the soft, corset-like contraption that the Elleth had insisted she wear, and then she went to the wash stand. She poured a little water into the bowl and then ran a wet cloth over her face and neck.

She had been happy indeed this afternoon, when she'd been dressing, to see that the bruises caused by the Orc's strangling hands had faded to just the lightest of smudges on the skin of her throat, and the bruise on her jaw had also dulled to a barely visible hazy green mark. She smiled at herself in the mirror. It was finally going to happen—she was going to bed with Elrohir in a very few moments, and was going to give him all the love that she had for him. They were going to be together for as long as she lived, loving each other whenever the whim struck them. She felt vaguely shivery at the thought of his hands on her, his lips…

She hurriedly dried her face with a towel and took the garland off her head. She would take her hair down in a minute, but with Elrohir's help. She thought it just might pique his interest even more, for him to do such an intimate thing for her. She was still in the filmy shift that Naith had given her this afternoon to wear beneath the dress, so she decided to leave that on as well. It was mostly lace, so it barely covered anything at all, even though it almost reached the floor. She smiled at her reflection again, and turned and opened the door.

She walked into the room and Elrohir was already in bed, the sheet covering the lower half of his naked body. As she approached him, he sat up, swinging his legs around to put his feet on the floor. As soon as she was beside him, he was standing, holding his arms open, inviting her into his embrace. She leaned into him and delighted in the feel of him against her—even through the gossamer undershift she still wore.

The side of her face was against his shoulder and she smiled when he began to pick the pins out of her hair. Piece by piece it fell down around her shoulders and when there were no more pins, he ran his fingers through it, cradling her head in his hands. He kissed her deeply…

His lips made a trail down the side of her neck, onto her shoulder, and when he met the strap of her chemise he stopped, leaning back slightly, enough to get his hands between the two of them. He slowly pulled the ribbons keeping the chemise closed over her breasts, and then inch by inch, eased it down her arms. He sat on the side of the bed and pulled the ribbon at her waist, and he slowly drew the lacy chemise down over her hips, letting it fall in a pool at her feet, his lips trailing kisses down her side in its wake.

Jeren could no longer take his sweet torture, so she crawled onto the bed, placing her head on a pillow, patting the space beside her so that he would join her. It did not take much prompting, and they were soon intertwined, loving each other deep into the night.

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Elrohir lay watching his new wife sleeping. It was near dawn, though there was no hint of it in the east as of yet. They'd made love several times during the night, and while the morning was fast approaching, the lamps were still lit. He'd never bothered to turn them down. He'd wanted to see her face, her reactions, as he loved her. He'd not been disappointed at all.

She was so beautiful in his eyes, and he truly could not believe she was his. He looked at her in the flickering glow, her skin a dusky gold in the lamplight. Though most people might think her wiry, he saw her as willowy. Where she was scarred, he saw banners of courage. He glanced at the one circling her right arm, and he thought of all the courage she had shown, trying to get her life back to the way she wanted it.

Her hair was tumbled around her shoulders and it disappeared beneath the sheet that covered her. He wanted to pull the linen away from her body, so that he could drink in the sight of her again, but thought not to wake her yet. He'd kept her up long after she was usually asleep, and the last time they'd made love, she'd yawned so frequently and so deeply, that he'd finally tucked her in close to him, with her head resting in the crook of his shoulder. She fell asleep almost immediately, all the while protesting that she was not tired.

That was his wife. His warrior wife…

He wondered to himself how he was ever going to get used to scouting with her, but more importantly, how was she going to react to scouting with him? He ever wanted to protect her, and she chafed under such care, so this endeavor was not going to be easy. No, it would be difficult at best, impossible at worst. But he was determined to make it work, and not just temporarily. He wanted to do it as long as she was intent on pursuing scouting. However, she seemed even more determined that he would join Elladan again and soon. They'd spoken about it—heatedly—after they'd left Glorfindel earlier yesterday, and decided that it was an argument best left for another time. It would still be there after they'd wed.

He could hardly wait for her to wake up now, so he could determine if what he'd thought had happened last night had indeed occurred. The first time they'd made love, he was caught by surprise when he felt their fëar meld together. He hadn't expected it to be so profound, but it had affected him deeply. He'd suddenly stopped and she'd looked at him with questioning eyes, but he'd simply kissed her and resumed making love to her. But he was sure that was when it had happened—at least for him. With her being Human, he was not sure she had experienced the same sort of event. And the suspense of finding out was beginning to wear on him.

He smiled to himself at the memory of when he was sure their marriage bond had been made. Suddenly all the love she held for him was one with his fëa, recognizable and stunning in its intensity. He'd spent some time after she'd fallen asleep trying to tone it down and tuck it away into his psyche, ever present but unnoticeable, unless he were to be in need of it. It was there in almost the same way he kept his bond with Elladan available—it was not something that would intrude into his mind unlooked for, the same way that his bond with his twin was mostly silent, unless Elladan needed him and 'summoned' him from afar.

The marriage bond was not the same as the one that he held with his twin. The bond he now shared with Jeren was not so much a part of his own consciousness. He'd shared a womb with Elladan, they had been the result of the same begetting, so if he did not 'shield' himself, he could almost at times seem as one with his brother. Thankfully, that did not happen anymore. When they'd been younger, and one or the other of them was in great distress, the other would be so bothered as a result, that they would both need attention. The first broken bone—which had happened to be Elrohir's arm—had put Elladan in the healing halls right along with him. But with their father's help, they had learned to shield themselves away from that too close contact they had with one another.

Unwilling to wait for her to wake up on her own, he took up a piece of her hair that had been lying on the pillow beside her and tickled her nose with its end. He smiled, trying hard not to laugh out loud, when she scrunched up her nose, and then heaved a sigh, but did not wake up. So he did it again, trailing the curled strand along her cheek this time. Her arm came up and she wiped at her face with the back of her hand, and then she turned over on her side, facing him, thankfully. He truly was stifling laughter by now, but was not going to give up his quest. Yet it occurred to him that it would be prudent to consider that, while she often rose early, she had always been a bear when she did not get the sleep she required. He knew he was treading on shaky ground here, but he wanted to talk to her, ask her if she felt the bond they now shared as deeply as he was feeling it.

He decided to 'romance' her awake, since he feared she would be in a temper when she was finally roused, especially if she caught him trying to wake her by dubious means. He drew closer to her and kissed the side of her mouth, then her lips, then her eyes. One of her arms reached for him and drew him closer, her lips meeting his, and then she looked at him.

She smiled. "Good morning, my husband."

"Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

"Very well," she said, and drew him down for another kiss. "Did you rest, too?"

"I did."

She raised herself onto an elbow to peer outside. "It's very early, Elrohir," she said groggily, but then she let herself back down onto the mattress, pulling him down with her. She began kissing his neck, her lips traveling up to his sensitive ears.

"Yes," he said, as he took her hands and brought them to his lips, making her quit her amorous antics, "and I'm sorry for waking you, but I had to speak with you."

"You woke me up to speak to me?" she asked, almost whining the question. She sat up, probably seeking a more dominant position in this argument. "Speak about what, Elrohir?" she asked crossly. "Unless you're planning on loving me some more, I want to go back to sleep for another few hours."

Elrohir sat up then. "Just answer a question for me, Jeren," he said quickly, realizing he was losing his chance at finding out the answer he sought.

She let herself fall onto her back in exasperation, flinging one arm over her eyes. "What is it?"

"Ah, don't be angry," he said, moving her arm away and kissing the side of her face.

"I'm not, really," she told him with a smile, finally looking at him. "What did you want to ask me, that couldn't wait until I woke up on my own?"

"I am sorry," he said, sounding contrite, "but I wanted to find out how our marriage bond sits with you this morning."

"Our marriage bond?" she asked, clearly confused. "I am happy that we're bonded, Elrohir. I wouldn't quit our marriage just because you woke me up for no good reason."

He laughed lightly, but then said, "No, Jeren. Did you feel nothing when we made love last night?"

A sultry smile curved her lips. "I certainly did feel something, Elrohir. Very many wonderful things, in fact." She ran her fingers down the side of his face. "You are a wonderful lover."

He looked away for a second, exasperated. "No, that's not what I mean!" he said, chuckling when he finally saw the irony of his question and her answer. He was beginning to think that perhaps her Humanity was going to keep her from actually benefitting from their bond.

Deciding that maybe she would profit from some guidance, he smoothed the hair away from her face, saying, "Just relax, but don't fall asleep. I want you to go inside your mind, and the best way for you to achieve such a state is if you relax. Start at your toes and when they are relaxed, then let the tension go from your legs, and let the feeling travel up your body until you are completely calm and tranquil."

She looked at him doubtfully. "I was just asleep and quite calm and tranquil. Why could I not have just stayed that way?"

"You need to be relaxed _and_ awake. Now please? I think you will be happy with the result, if what I believe happened last night truly happened." She frowned at him in confusion, so he went on, "I had hoped, though I had not known for sure, that you would have been able to feel the moment of our bonding. It seems all my study went for naught…"

Her brow furled with trepidation. "What exactly are you talking about, Elrohir? I thought that 'bonding' was just a term used by Elves instead of 'marriage'. Are you telling me there was some sort of connection or link we were supposed to accomplish last night when we—"

"—yes," Elrohir said, glad that she was getting it now. "That is exactly what I am saying."

"Why didn't someone warn me of this before?" she asked, almost angrily. "And you've been studying it without telling me? What is it? What was I supposed to feel?" Then her frown deepened. "Mayhap it didn't work because I am Human. I don't feel any different today than I did yesterday."

"Again, I am sorry that I didn't tell you about it. But I didn't want to have any influence on the bonding—planting something in your mind that might or might not happen. So that is what I am trying to determine now. I didn't know if you would experience such a bond. I know that I certainly did! Last night, the first time we made love. I could feel it—suddenly you were there in my heart, and it is such a sweet feeling. I was hoping you were feeling it, too." He thought about the experience again, and it filled him with warmth to sense her there in his heart. He experimentally sent a surge of love to her.

Jeren's eyes widened and when she looked at him, he couldn't tell if she was more elated or apprehensive. "Jeren?" he said.

"I think I feel it, Elrohir," she said. "It started as a subtle feeling, but after a moment, something wonderful flared up in—my head? My soul? My heart? I cannot tell."

"Try to explain it to me, Jeren," he said quietly.

"It is somewhat between feeling euphoric and feeling as if you are loving me to a—to when I lose all control," she said, blushing at describing the state she'd found herself in over and over again last night. "I am not sure I will be able to leave this room ever again. I cannot face people when I have such feelings running amok inside me."

"Worry not," he said, as he laid back down and took her into his arms. "I think I can help you get it under control. I have spent some time already doing just that for myself, before I woke you. It would be much too obvious to people were I to leave the room in such a state."

Jeren giggled and circled him with her arms. "I love you, Elrohir. I am so happy that you woke us both up to the fact that we belonged together."

He pulled her closer. "I am glad of it, as well." He released her slightly, so that he could help her temper their bond, so that it wasn't so overwhelming. "Now, do the relaxing I was telling you about earlier. Start at your toes…"

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****A/N: Again, thanks so much for the reviews. They really keep me going... yuemoon, heavenslilagl420, Southern Pride, American Pride, Duck, Nell, dr3, Shycoyotegirl, Song in the Woods, Livia09, Sadie Sil, Brandibuckeye, Lady Anne, Teacalm, and Elfinabottle.****


	27. Chapter 27

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

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"Elrohir!" Jeren whispered. She paused a few seconds and then tried again, a little louder, "Elrohir!"

She was startled when he suddenly appeared out of the brush, not six feet away from her. His expression was more than a little perturbed. He took in a deep breath, letting it out angrily. "What is it, Jeren? If there were Orcs about, our location would be known to all, thanks to you. I've finished inspecting the cave and all's clear in it."

This was her fifth day of a long first week of scouting with Elrohir. If she hadn't loved him so much, she would have cheerfully and gleefully skewered him with her sword, on more than one occasion, happy to end his condescending way of speaking to her once and for all. If he thought he was losing patience with her, well, she could tell him that she'd long since lost all her patience with him.

They had spent a few days after their bonding doing nothing in particular—other than making love whenever the whim took them. But they both tired of lazing about, and by the fourth day of their wedded bliss, they'd each taken their own pursuits during the day, coming back together at night to tryst. Jeren had begun the arduous task of training her arm again, loosening tightened muscles and working to gain back the flexibility that the arrow wound had cost her. After two weeks of non-stop training, she had again built her arm back up to the point it had been before she'd been wounded. She was almost, but not quite, back to her former accuracy with the bow, yet nowhere near having the speed she'd once had. She was ably wielding the sword with her left hand; that had not changed.

She had asked Lord Elrond to evaluate her progress to see if he would release her to begin scouting. He'd checked her arm thoroughly, flexing it and extending it, observing her carefully for signs of pain. She'd assured him it was fine, but he insisted on watching her pull her bow before he'd sanction her release from his care. So she'd fetched her bow and taken it back to his study, had pulled the string repeatedly, and then held it drawn for as long as he demanded. She passed all his tests and he reluctantly released her. Like Elrohir, he'd truly not wanted her to be a scout, but he knew how much it meant to her so he could not in good conscience hold her back any longer. And now she and Elrohir were on their first scouting mission, exploring the territory where Jeren had found the group of Orcs a few short weeks ago.

There were numerous caves and other places where Orcs could hole up during the day, and those were what Jeren and Elrohir had been inspecting for the past week. Even before Imladris was founded, Elven scouts had mapped this entire area, so each remarkable part of the terrain had been noted, including the caves and caverns they now searched. The two of them would scout in this area for another week, and then go back to Imladris to report their findings to Glorfindel, unless they happened to find some Orcs between now and then. They'd been thoroughly checking every possible Orc lair for signs of recent occupation. Orcs were filthy, in both their personal habits as well as their housekeeping, so if they'd been in a cave in recent days, there would be no mistaking it.

Jeren and Elrohir didn't start their patrol until later in the morning when the sun was fully up and the likelihood of finding Orcs outside was low. Orcs could not abide sunlight, so during the night—or just before the new day was breaking—they usually visited whatever horrors they intended on the unsuspecting folk that had the misfortune of being in their path. The attack on Jeren at her father's homestead had happened just after dawn, when Jeren had gone down to the nearby stream to get water for the day. When she'd returned, she'd found that ten Orcs had made themselves at home inside the small cabin that her father had built years ago, when he and Jennah had been newly married. The Orcs had merely been looking for shelter from the sun's blinding and blistering rays, and it had been a bonus for them that Jeren had been there at all.

Jeren and Elrohir had been scouting for quite awhile today already. It was now a few hours past noontime, and they would soon be calling a halt to their search for the day. She was tired and frustrated, and she'd had just about enough of her husband's choler. She was unsure why he was acting like this. At first she'd thought he was just set in his ways, wanting to take control because he thought he had a better way of doing things, but then his disposition had changed. He had become short-tempered and overbearing. And even though she had been thoroughly trained by the Elves, and she felt she was capable of making some of the decisions, Elrohir would not allow her to. He would find fault with any plan she might suggest, no matter what it happened to be. If she thought they should camp upstream, he'd insist on downstream. If she felt as if a fire would be too risky, he would deem it safe. He seemed to be disagreeing just for the sake of disagreement, about things that had no particular import in the overall outcome of the situation. He was being ornery, and she was very close to confronting him about his behavior.

"You were gone overlong, and I grew tired of waiting for you," she said, her resentment obvious.

"You knew where I was. It was your duty to stay here and guard my back."

"Guard your back against what, Elrohir? It is the rare Orc who ventures about at this time of day. What do you need warning against? I saw a rabbit—did you need me to alert you of its presence?"

The look he gave her would have felled a lesser woman, but Jeren returned his heated glare with an icy one of her own.

"Being insubordinate isn't helping your case," Elrohir said in a superior tone.

"I do not recall Lord Glorfindel appointing you as captain of this mission. When you made the agreement with him to begin scouting, there was no ranking involved. You are a scout, just the same as I; not over me—along with me. A partner, not a superior."

"Experience alone makes me your superior—I did not need appointment to that."

Stung beyond reasoning by that remark, Jeren kept herself from childishly stomping away from him. Instead she gathered her battered dignity around her like a shield and walked quietly back toward where Two was tethered. She mounted the mare, her anger keeping her spine straight. Of course Elrohir's Saedren had not needed such a mundane restraint as tethering, and when she spied him a short distance away cropping grass, it reminded her that she was dealing with an Elf who had a really bad disposition, making her anger grow that much more.

She should have followed her first instincts about this scouting arrangement with Elrohir and told him no when he'd first suggested it. She had been sure they'd be in conflict, just as Glorfindel had advised, right after Elrohir had told him that they planned to bond. And the Arms Master had reinforced that opinion at least once since. She took up Two's reins and mounted her, turning her head away from Saedren, kicking the mare into a slow walk in the opposite direction. They each had a map of the territory they were scouting, but she hadn't consulted hers today. Elrohir decided on every planned stop they would make, so she had not seen the point of even looking at hers.

Sooner than she would have liked, Elrohir joined her on the trail. "The next cave is east of here," was all he said, and then he nudged Saedren into a canter, pulling the horse's head back in the eastward direction. She closed her eyes, hoping to ward off the cursing she wanted to hurl at him, and turned Two's head to follow the Elven horse. Soon enough they were at their destination, and they both dismounted.

Whispering, Jeren said, "_I'll_ check this one, Elrohir." She took two steps through the brush toward the cave, but his hand wrapped around her upper arm, stopping her. "Keep watch," was all he said before he was trotting silently through the undergrowth and trees toward the opening of the cave.

Jeren decided then and there that she'd had enough of keeping watch, and she was going with him. She counted slowly to ten, to give him a head start, and then as quietly as she could, she crept in the direction that Elrohir had gone. When she had him in sight again, he was just inside the cave's mouth. Even with his back to her, he'd evidently heard her approach. He held his hand out toward her, his palm facing her, obviously wanting her to stop where she was. She cursed silently to herself, since she had been very mindful of any noise she might make. She decided not to care, and she kept on her trek toward the opening in the rock.

He was backing slowly away from the entrance when she finally reached him. Without saying a word, he turned and shoved her firmly toward the direction they'd come. She wanted to shove him back, but since he'd been so stealthy in his retreat from the cave, she was afraid he'd found Orcs within it, so she dared not make any noise. As soon as they'd reached the horses, Elrohir mounted, acting as if he'd not found anything of any note in the cave he'd just searched.

Jeren, her hands on her hips, asked him, "Well?"

"Well what?" he asked absently in return, as he scanned the map for the next location they would venture to.

She was fuming by now, tired to death of his attitude and his arrogance. They were supposed to be partners—in marriage and in this scouting. He was treating her as a much weaker inferior and not someone of equal status at all.

With her teeth clamped together, she asked him, "What did you find in the cave?" He didn't answer her right away; he just kept perusing the map, as if she wasn't worthy of his attention. "Elrohir!" she hissed, just a little louder, because she still did not know what he'd found and did not want to alert anyone or anything to their presence unnecessarily.

"It was a sleeping bear, Jeren," he said coolly in response, when he'd figured out that he was making her angry. "Not what we were looking for, but dangerous nonetheless."

She straightened her spine again and calmed herself down. They were going to have a discussion about their working together, and they were going to have it now. Or as soon as they were well away from the cave and not in danger of waking the bear. She mounted Two and turned the mare's head away, going back the way they had come. Elrohir followed after a minute, as soon as he had the map folded and put back into his pocket.

"We're going this way," he said when he'd caught up to her, indicating further east, in the opposite direction from where she was heading at the moment.

"No, Elrohir," Jeren said calmly, "_We're_ not going that way. _You_ might be, but I am not. I am going to choose my own locations and check them out on my own. I will meet you back at our campsite before sunset."

He grabbed for her reins and pulled Two closer to Saedren. The mare wasn't keen on being so close to the stallion, and she rolled her eyes in warning, putting her ears back as well.

"Jeren, you have been fighting me all week. Whatever happened to cooperation? We used to work well together; why can we not still?"

"We are not working _together_, Elrohir," she answered, her voice calm. "You are commanding me, expecting me to follow your orders. That isn't what we—what _I_—expected when I agreed to scout with you. Were I simply scouting with another Elf, you know that we would have split up and covered much more territory than the two of us have been. Either that, or we would have shared the duties. You do not share them with me. You have taken over, and in the process have become an unendurable bore. Were you another Elf that Glorfindel had assigned to go with me, and you treated me this way, I'd be on my way back to Imladris to ask the Arms Master for another partner." She paused for a moment, but then added, "Now we needs be quiet. There's a sleeping bear near and we should not wake him." She reached out and removed Elrohir's hand from her reins, and nudged Two into a walk.

Much to her displeasure, Elrohir did not leave her to go on to the next eastward cave that was indicated on the map. He followed in her wake, in utter silence. She hoped she'd not made things worse by finally having her say, although on second thought, she wondered if they could indeed be worse. She glanced back, hoping to see if she could read his expression, and she was exasperated by what she saw: Elrohir had gotten his map out of his pocket and was checking it—no doubt finding their next location, only westward, instead of the eastward direction he had hoped to take. She sighed, afraid he'd not heard a word of what she'd just said.

He refolded the map and replaced it in his pocket, then urged Saedren up, so that he was even with Jeren. "Let's just go back to our campsite. We can talk there, without fear of waking sleeping bears or Orcs."

So the two of them rode back in silence to the place they'd camped last night. They didn't stay camped in the same place for more than a couple of days. It depended on how many locations were in the immediate area that they hoped to cover. They would move their camp again tomorrow, most likely, going further in whichever direction they ultimately chose. Ideally, they would have split up during the days and each covered part of the territory, coming back together in the late afternoons to compare notes and rest for the evening, but so far Elrohir had opposed that idea completely.

They took whatever opportunity they could to hunt, so when they came upon small game in the afternoons, they would shoot their supper then. Elrohir had been their provider the whole time they'd been out here, because he simply didn't seem to have the patience to wait for Jeren's slow and careful aim these days. He had bagged two quail about an hour ago, and that is what they would dine on tonight.

As soon as they were back at the campsite, they busied themselves in getting the camp ready for the evening. Throughout this week, they had each been standing watch for half the night, although Jeren suspected that Elrohir wasn't resting as much as he could when it was her turn to guard them. He was literally doing everything, and somehow she felt as if he resented it. It didn't make sense, because he insisted on doing the bulk of the work and decision-making, but she couldn't shake the idea that it wasn't what he wanted to do at all.

She stood and watched her husband as he plucked the feathers from the little birds and then placed them on a stick to hang over the fire. He'd gutted them when he'd killed them, so preparing them for cooking hadn't taken long.

He didn't have an angry expression on his face, as she might have expected, but she could see what she thought were lines of fatigue around his eyes. She wandered closer to him, sitting down in front of the fire beside him.

He'd not said a word after she had berated him for completely taking over their scouting mission. She'd already spoken her mind, and now she waited for his reply. As soon as the quail were settled over the fire, he went to the nearby pond and washed his hands. He returned quickly, and then sat down beside Jeren—very closely beside her.

He ran his hand down the length of her braid, and then kissed her cheek. She turned to look at him, and he was smiling, for what seemed like the first time in days. He then kissed her lips, deepening the kiss until Jeren wanted him to take her right there in the dirt beside the fire.

She clung to him when he ended the kiss, her face against the side of his neck. "I love you, Elrohir," she whispered.

"I love you, too, Jeren," he said. "I believe this is much harder than I ever thought it could be."

She leaned away from him then, her brow puckered in confusion. "What is harder, Elrohir? Being married to me? Am I that difficult to get along with?"

He chuckled gently and pulled her against him again for a moment. He released her, keeping hold of one of her hands. "Convincing you to marry me has been my greatest achievement so far, Jeren," he said honestly. "No, being married to you is easy. It's all the rest that is hard." He got up from his seat and started pacing slowly around the fire. "I thought that keeping you close would help ease my heart about your safety, especially out here in the wild. But it isn't working how I thought it would."

Jeren stood then, so that they could be on equal footing. "No, it isn't working, Elrohir," she said earnestly. "I feel as if you have no faith in my training, in my abilities—or in anything I feel is worthwhile about me. I feel useless out here. I might as well be at home, lounging on those velvet pillows you would have me sitting on, did you have your way."

"Ah Jeren," he said, frowning, "You know that truly isn't what I want. I want your happiness more than anything else."

Turning and walking a few steps away, she said, "I'm not sure that's true, Elrohir." She hoped he could read the raw candor in her tone as the words tumbled out of her heart. "I think more than anything else, you are looking to your own comfort and not mine at all."

His frown deepened, but she didn't give him a chance to say anything. "I think you would ease your own heart, wouldn't you? That's why you are here with me now, instead of another Elf—one that truly wishes to be a scout." She approached him again, taking hold of his hands. "I can tell that you are fighting boredom most of the time, and to combat that you run yourself ragged trying to do everything. I sit doing nothing quite a bit of the time, which, by the way, is as annoying as it can be!"

She dropped his hands and started pacing, too, but at a much faster rate than Elrohir had been. "You truly do not know how grateful I am to you, that you convinced your father to reattach my arm. If not for you, I would be a helpless and useless creature, living off the kindness and mercies of others. You did save my arm—and at the same time you saved me. But now you would wrap me in gauze to keep me from harm." She stopped where she was and faced him then. "I appreciate the sentiment, Elrohir, but in reality, it is quite stifling."

"I am sorry for that, Jeren," he said, and she could see that he really did mean it. "But do not forget about your most recent injury—when you took off on your own to go to the settlement. You promised me that nothing would happen to you, but you came back to me with an arrow in your arm. I think my concerns are valid."

"And you know those concerns are the risks a warrior takes when she does her work, Elrohir. I cannot ever remember you taking pause, just because your task might be dangerous. Why should I?"

Jeren began her restless walking again, but Elrohir stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. She turned to look at him, hoping she could see understanding in his gaze. She was relieved, in a way, by the guilt she saw on his face. She had finally gotten through to him. But not only did she see apology written in his eyes, she also saw the boundless love he held for her. But as she watched his expression change, she was sure she could also see the frustration and fear in his face, that some harm might befall her.

"You make a good point; one I wish I could rectify easily." He looked thoughtful for a moment, and then added, "Jeren, I am sorry for being so harsh with you. I have been keeping my feelings from reaching you through our bond, so that you would not be aware of my very real fear for you. But in the process, I have been expending so much energy doing so, that it has left me somewhat tense and surly."

"Only somewhat?" Jeren asked with a tenuous smile on her lips.

"All right, a great deal," he admitted. "I think I need to quit trying to keep my feelings from you and let my ordinary shielding for the bond do its work. That way we will be aware of each other's feelings. As it is, I was suppressing my emotions from leaking out to you, but you were not doing likewise. I knew I was making you angry and resentful, but thought that letting go of the hold I had on my end of the bond would only make things worse. But it has turned out to not be the answer I had hoped for."

"I am so new to having a bond, Elrohir, I am sad to say that I did not notice the absence of your presence. It leaves me shamed," she said, looking downward.

He was quick to reassure her, raising her chin so that he could see her eyes. "Jeren do not feel badly about this. In the first place, I've been hard to abide; why would you wish to seek my presence if you had no need to? But more than that, it is the nature of marriage bonds to be subtle.

"I have been used to having a bond with someone all my life. My bond with Elladan has prepared me for having a marriage bond—perhaps too well. Had you and I just been two Elves with no bonds with others before, our marriage bond would be a peaceful, quiet thing, with each of us barely aware of the other. With you being Human, I did not know what to expect. I was completely shocked when you not only noticed our bond, but were overwhelmed with its intensity. I was prepared for it to begin much quieter, as most new marriage bonds do, only growing and intensifying as time went on. I am afraid that perhaps my being used to having such a connection with someone has enhanced our bond, enabled ours to be overwhelming at times, thus the need for each of us to learn to shield ourselves, so that we are not always running around 'love-struck'. We will both get it right over time. The reaction you've had is very usual for marriage bonds; at least in my studies of them, that is how they were described. Most of the time, especially early on, the bond is usually unnoticeable."

Distracted momentarily, Jeren said, "So that is what you had been doing, all those weeks that I spent training with Glorfindel, before you and I bonded? It seemed as if whenever anyone had need to find you, you would always turn up in the library. You were studying marriage bonds?"

He nodded, adding, "Yes, among other things…"

She shook her head as if to clear it and then said, her tone serious once more, "I understand all this Elrohir, but putting our bond aside for the moment, what is going to keep you from being bored to tears while scouting? You are doing something you truly have no desire to do. I think that is making you just as tired and cranky as your trying to keep such rigid hold on your end of the bond is."

"I've been that obvious about it, have I?" he asked, just a trifle uncomfortably.

"Not really," Jeren admitted. "It took awhile before I realized that that was probably at the root of the problem. You've long since outgrown scouting, and you wish for more stimulating pursuits. 'Tis only natural…"

He turned away with what looked almost like shame on his face, but Jeren reached for him, making him look at her again. "As you've told me hundreds of times—Elladan even more so—I am very young; the path to reaching my goals is in small steps that I must master over time. I've not been around as long as you have, not by a far stretch, so it is no wonder that our interests and goals might not mesh all the time. It is a wonder they mesh as well as they do."

Elrohir took her into his arms. "You speak the wisdom of someone of more advanced years. It is to your credit that you understand others as well as you do."

"So now that we're on cordial speaking terms again, what can we do about our problem?" Jeren asked, pushing herself out of his embrace. "I wish I could just smack your head against a wall until you no longer feared for my safety, but for one thing, you wouldn't allow that, and for another, your head is pretty hard; I doubt it would work anyway."

Elrohir laughed, and Jeren thought it was the most beautiful sound she'd heard in quite a long while. He frowned unexpectedly and then sniffed, and his face looked suddenly shocked. "The birds!" was all he said, and then he dashed back to the fire, to turn the little quail on their spit.

Jeren laughed then, and he asked, "So you're willing to eat quail that's a little overdone on one side without complaint?"

"You mean charred crispy on one side, do you not?" she replied with a smirk. "Elrohir, I'm so hungry I could probably boil stones and eat the soup they made—and love it! Just as long as the meat is not completely raw, I can eat whatever you dish up."

"Tomorrow it will be your turn to cook," was all he said, as he continued turning the little birds over the fire."

"Do you really mean that, Elrohir?" Jeren asked, and she couldn't help her wistful tone.

He stood again, the spit the quail were skewered on dangling from one hand. He returned to where she stood and kissed her. "I do mean it, Jeren. Things are about to change. I hope for the better."

She kissed him enthusiastically. "Anything will be better than what I've endured this week so far."

He poked a finger into her ribs, causing her to laugh and shy away from him. "Put our meal back on the fire, Elrohir—I'm hungry!"

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

'_Elrohir… Brother—what is wrong?'_

Elrohir was standing watch the first part of the night when this insistent plea flooded his mind. He had been ignoring his brother's attempts to communicate for a while now, but Elladan had become very persistent, so he knew he could not continue shutting his twin out. It wasn't fair. He was afraid his fear for Jeren had been seeping into his bond with his twin, and this was proof that he was probably right.

He didn't know what to tell Elladan. He'd not 'spoken' to him in this way in quite awhile; he'd been busy with other more personal pursuits. Elladan did not know that Elrohir had bonded with Jeren. Elrohir had not told him—purposely. He hadn't wanted him to come home for the occasion.

He could not help the twinge of jealousy he felt whenever he thought about Elladan and Jeren, and how they had been together at least once—that he knew of. Jeren had never told him otherwise, but he'd not asked her—he'd not wanted to know. Just as he hadn't really wanted to hear about it in the first place, when she had told him about the one time she had been with his brother. Her voice had been soft and dreamy. Feminine. A quality he had seldom heard in her words, before or since.

He was now bonded to Jeren, and he was determined that no one was going to come between them—especially not his twin. He knew in his heart that Elladan would never stoop to such behavior, but for some reason, that knowledge didn't help him. He never consciously thought about his brother and Jeren, and how they'd at one time gone to bed together. He knew and loved his twin like he understood and loved no one else in the world, and he'd never experienced jealousy on this scale before. It puzzled him, quite frankly. He'd never been in love before, so he supposed that probably explained it. But he was torn where Elladan was concerned—he was at once resentful of his brother and at the same time ashamed of his resentment. It didn't make sense, and he'd not wanted to dwell on it. But it seemed as if now he would have no choice.

'_Nothing is wrong, Brother. Why are you not resting?'_

'_Do not change the subject, Elrohir. I have been aware of something very close to fear coming through our link for the past few days, and it has me puzzled and worried. You do not usually fear much…'_

Elrohir frowned as he realized that he'd grown lax in keeping himself shielded from Elladan. He hated being completely cut off from his twin, but he'd grown used to being so when he'd discovered that his love for Jeren had ripened to something beyond the sister or daughter he'd always thought her. He'd shut Elladan out completely then, and it was not long after that that he'd discovered that Elladan had been doing the same to him for far longer that Elrohir had been. So he'd continued keeping his private business private from Elladan—that is, until now.

Trying to manage the marriage bond had been taking quite a bit of his concentration, so he supposed his guard had slipped, allowing Elladan to detect the fear he was feeling for Jeren. He decided to try redirecting his brother's focus again.

'_How do you know I am not on the outs with Father? That could well make me fearful.'_

Elrohir could sense the mental chuckle, though he heard nothing, and it brought a smile to his own face. He could feel the love his brother had for him come pouring into his heart through their bond, and it loosened the strain he had been feeling about his jealousy toward his twin.

'_Somehow I do not think it has anything to do with our father, Elrohir. You are not in danger, are you?' _

Elrohir could feel the tension in his brother, and he wanted to quickly set Elladan's mind at ease. So Elrohir sent a cheery mirth back through their link. _'No, Brother; no danger. All is well.' _Elrohir bit his lip, trying to think of something to tell Elladan that would satisfy him, but as he sat there contemplating his answer, he decided it was time to quit evading and sidestepping and get on with telling the truth._ 'Why do you not come see me and I will enlighten you as to what has been troubling me?'_

'_Are you at home? I sense that you aren't. You are somewhere near the Bruinen, but not on the Imladris side. What are you doing out there?'_

'_Come. See for yourself. I think you can sense my location well enough, so I'm sure you can find me.' _

_'I'll see you soon, Brother. Probably tomorrow.'_

Elrohir could then feel his brother's presence ebb. He had mixed feelings about seeing Elladan now, but he needed to confront these doubts about his brother and Jeren, put them to rest once and for all. Yes, get this out in the open and dealt with, just he had been trying to deal with his other fears.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren and Elrohir began the very next day sharing the work of scouting, although Elrohir still would not allow for them to be going off on their own. No, he could not yet let her out of his sight for that long at a time while they were out in the wild. It was hard enough for him to give her equal time in scouting the different caves they needed to enter in order to deem them clear of Orcs.

The first time it was Jeren's turn, she became so fearful of what she was about to do that she had to stop halfway to the cave's entrance and calm her nerves. It puzzled her; she never felt anything near this type of trepidation, unless she was directly confronted by Orcs and about to do battle. It then dawned on her that it was not _her_ fear she was feeling, but Elrohir's, coming to her from their marriage bond. It gave her new empathy for what he was going through, but it did not deter her from wanting to do her part of the work.

After inspecting several caves and caverns, they took a break for their noon meal, which consisted of dried meat and some cheese they had brought with them from Imladris' stores. They'd found a shady spot where they could hear the Bruinen's song filtering through the trees bordering the clearing where they sat.

"I'd ask you how you are feeling," Jeren started, "but I already know. We've spent the entire morning with me inspecting my share of the holes for Orcs, and your unhappiness still hasn't lessened. Elrohir, you know I hate putting you through this anguish, do you not?"

He gave her a tepid smile. "Yes, I know you do, although I am torturing myself, Jeren; you are not doing it. If I but had the faith in you I should have, I would not feel so dreadful. I honestly do not know what is keeping me from it. I have confidence in my brother and his ability to fight and fend for himself. And I do for many others I am close to as well. Why can I not do this for you? I've seen you sparring with Glorfindel and others—since the near loss of your arm—and you are very good with the sword; perhaps even better than you were before, with your right hand. I see it with my own eyes; why can I not transfer that sight into the feeling that you will be fine on your own out here?"

"It warms my heart that you love me so much, Elrohir. I know you do not want to lose me, and that is at the root of your fear. But I also think—even though we are wed and it is obvious I am a grown woman—that you still think of me as the broken child you found in this very same wilderness years ago. I'm no longer broken, Elrohir, and I can truly take care of myself now, as I could not then. If you could but change that picture you have of me, mayhap you would have more success in accepting my choice of profession."

He looked thoughtful for a moment. "You might be right as to the 'why' of the matter. I'd not dwelt on that aspect at all, although Father has brought that up as a possible cause of my fear." He looked away, as if he were studying the trees in the distance, and Jeren thought he might not say anything else. But finally he glanced back at her, a look of decision on his face. "Maybe I should let him try again with his mind healing—see if he cannot be more successful now."

"Elrohir," Jeren said thoughtfully, "would it be possible for you to somehow tap into the confidence that I feel as a warrior through our bond? If you could, would that not work toward easing your concerns? If you could feel that I'm competent from what I am experiencing when I'm at work, then I should think that would help you."

He raised his brows, amazed at her suggestion. "That is a very good idea," he admitted. "I've been so overtaken by my emotions, I'd not thought about reversing the flow of the bond—allowing your feelings to flood me. That just might do it." He leaned over toward her and gave her a quick kiss. "You have a very nimble mind."

She smiled and shook her head. "That's what I've been trying to tell you for the longest time!"

He kissed her more thoroughly then and her arms went around his neck. He laid her back in the grass beneath the tree, his hands finding the ties on her tunic and then the buttons on her shirt. He paused in his ministrations for a moment. "Why do we not just decide that we are finished for the day, and take ourselves over to the waterfall? I think we've earned it, don't you?" he asked her. At her momentary pause in answering, he added, "Can you hear it?"

She stopped to listen and then nodded her head. "It sounds close. Funny—I'd not heard it at all until you brought it to my attention."

"Its sound blends well with the Bruinen's rush. It isn't far." He grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet, as she clutched at the edges of her shirt and tunic, trying to keep them closed as they made their way to the waterfall. As soon as they were at the water's edge, Elrohir sat on a rock and removed his boots. Jeren dropped down beside him to take off her footwear, but soon grew distracted. As Elrohir shrugged out of his shirt, her lips were planting kisses along his neck. It had been some time since they'd been together, what with their differences of opinion, as well as scouting throughout the days and having to keep watch during the nights. They were both eager for time in each other's arms.

Jeren stopped kissing him long enough to finish taking off her boots, and then ducked out of her shirt and tunic. Elrohir stood and loosened the ties on his leggings, but quickly found more interest in Jeren's state of undress. He took her hand and pulled her up again, kissing her deeply, his fingers already busy untying the ribbons that held her half shift together across her breasts. He suddenly smiled against her lips, and then a chuckle escaped him, even though he was trying his best not to laugh.

"What's so funny, Elrohir?" Jeren asked, unable to keep the smile from creeping onto her lips, even though it perturbed her a little that he'd stopped kissing her.

He stood back so that he could ease the straps of the half shift from her shoulders, and as he did so, he said, "I just had a peculiar thought—I'm with a warrior of Imladris and I'm undressing—_her_. By all rights you should be male. You do realize you are the only female warrior that Rivendell has, do you not?"

She reached for him, pulling his bare chest against her naked breasts. "I do realize it, Elrohir," she said, her face so close to his that he could feel her breath on his skin. "And I am very glad you have finally realized it, too! Now are you going to talk, or are you going to love me the way I need you to love me?"

He quickly finished taking off his leggings while she pulled hers off, and then they both jumped feet first into the pool beneath the waterfall. Jeren surfaced first and when Elrohir didn't come up for a few more seconds, she knew she was in for a dunking at least. And sure enough, before she could even think to hold her breath, she was yanked beneath the water again. They then both came up laughing, but Jeren did not have pranks on her mind. She pulled the Elf against her again, kissing him, as if she could devour him whole.

He relaxed in her arms, and his hands began seeking her curves. As his fingers closed gently around her breasts, her head fell back and she sighed with pleasure. His lips traveled the length of her neck, down to her collarbone and lower, and Jeren gasped when his lips closed around the sensitive flesh of one of her breasts. Sooner than he would have liked, she urged his face back up to hers, needing his kiss, and needing him to fill the void she felt when he was this close, but not inside her.

Without breaking their kiss, Elrohir backed Jeren up to a rocky wall that bordered the pond that the waterfall filled. He lifted her hips and their bodies merged, Elrohir supporting most of her weight, so as not to bruise her back on the sun-warmed rock behind her. His lips never left hers. Jeren often marveled at his strength. Not only could he hold her like this indefinitely, he could also love her thoroughly at the same time.

The rock had been warmed all day in the sun, so it kept Jeren from shivering as her upper body left the water. They were several feet away from the waterfall, so its sound wasn't deafening, but it was a continuous melody, relaxing them both as they loved each other at the pool's edge.

Jeren unexpectedly felt Elrohir stiffen and pause, suddenly stopping the ancient rhythm practiced by most living, breathing beings as they coupled. He pulled away from her slightly and groaned when a familiar voice rang through the clearing in greeting:

"Well, well," Elladan said, his voice mirthful, "what have we here?"

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Elrohir closed his eyes with a grimace as he realized it was Elladan standing there. Without moving a muscle he said, "Elladan, could you give us a moment? I'll come find you…"

Laughing, Elladan said, "Please, take more than a moment, Elrohir. Believe me, it'll be worth it!"

Elladan didn't see Elrohir's jaw clench at that little pronouncement, but he did go away, leaving the two of them together in the pond, with Jeren perched against Elrohir in the most intimate of embraces. She hid her face against his shoulder and he could feel her laughter. His anger at Elladan dwindled for a moment, for one cannot hear laughter without joining in, most of the time. He hugged her closer and realized how cold his wife was. He ducked into the water with her, and she looked at him with a beautiful smile on her face.

"I suppose we can finish this later—after we rid ourselves of your brother?" she asked him. "To be honest, it is hard to recollect the right mood at the moment."

He smiled back at her. _Ilúvatar, how he loved her_. Most females, especially those of the Human persuasion, would have been mortified at such an intrusion; they would not be in a laughing frame of mind at all, as Jeren was. He kissed her again.

"I am sorry for this," he said, "but you are right, Elladan has killed the mood for me as well." He looked somewhat pensive for a few seconds, but then said, "Jeren, I must speak to my brother alone. You do not mind, do you?"

"Of course not, Elrohir," she said, running her fingers down the side of his face. "Let's get dressed and then you can go find him, and I will get my bow and hunt us some supper."

Elrohir was afraid his momentary panic at having to leave her alone in the forest without him showed on his face, because she frowned at him, as if she were about to tell him to stop hovering again. But instead of getting angry, her face softened and she said, "Elrohir, I will be fine. We've been scouting in this area all day, and we've found nothing." When she saw he was about to protest, she entreated him, "_Please_, Elrohir—I will be fine, and it will do me good to be on my own for awhile. You go speak to your brother, and when I have been successful in my hunt, I will come back this way and find you."

"All right, Jeren," he said, his tone resigned. "I'll begin setting up a camp, probably in that clearing where we ate our noon meal."

They climbed out of the water, dried off the best that they could and got dressed. They returned to the horses, and Elladan was there, sitting on a rock with the most interesting of smiles on his lips. Jeren's face reddened in embarrassment, but she didn't say anything to him; she just retrieved her bow and quiver from where they were stowed on Two's saddle and quickly left again.

Elrohir didn't say anything either, at first. He began unsaddling the horses, and rubbing them down, and Elladan did likewise. It was obvious that Elladan planned to stay for the night—even though he might not want to when he'd heard all that Elrohir had to say. Elrohir began gathering firewood and before long, Elladan was with him again, picking up deadfall to use for the evening's fire. As soon as his arms were full, Elrohir headed back to the clearing and when he reached it, dropped the wood into a pile on the ground.

Elrohir set about making a fire and Elladan sat on a fallen log a short distance away. Elrohir couldn't tell if his brother knew how angry he was, but he was making no secret of it. It wasn't the fact that his twin had interrupted while he was making love to Jeren, it was his words after he'd made himself known:_ "Please, take more than a moment, Elrohir. Believe me, it'll be worth it!" _

He didn't really care what Elladan thought—that perhaps Jeren might be loose with her favors. Elrohir knew differently, so that was not what was bothering him. It was the fact that Elladan had been with Jeren before, knew her in an intimate way, and then he had had the nerve to flaunt that fact—he'd thrown it into Elrohir's face. _'…take more than a moment… Believe me... it'll be worth it…' _

"So…" Elladan started, "what has you out here—and with Jeren, no less—that would have you bleeding fear through our link?" He smiled devilishly when he added, "Unless she's been stalking you for days. That might put fear into an Elf's heart." He chuckled quietly to himself until Elrohir answered—angrily.

"She is not a domineering whore, Elladan! And I resent your implications. She happens to be my wife, and if I cannot make love to my own wife without your untoward comments, then something is seriously wrong between the two of us."

Elrohir was deeply satisfied by the look of complete shock on his brother's face. He wasn't sure if Elladan was more surprised by the revelation of Elrohir's bonding, or the fact that he had gotten angry, which was something that rarely happened between them.

They had always been different in that way—Elladan was the one quick to anger, the one whose temper was easily riled and apt to explode at any minute. Elrohir was more the diplomat—the one who soothed and whose anger rarely flared. So this turnabout might be what had Elladan more surprised than Elrohir had seen him in awhile.

"You… and Jeren…bonded?" Elladan said, his face awash in disbelief. "Elrohir, are you serious?"

"Of course I'm serious," Elrohir said in an annoyed tone. "Bonding is no laughing matter."

"But why didn't you tell me? I would have liked to have borne witness to my own twin's bonding."

Elrohir could see the hurt on Elladan's face, but more than that, he could feel it through their link. Yet he still could not turn off that jealous part of him, the part that could dwell on the fact that his wife and his brother knew each other intimately; the part that had taken exception to Elladan's earlier words.

"There was no time," Elrohir said, rising from a crouch beside the fire and approaching his brother. "We decided to bond and then we did."

"Does Father know?" Elladan asked, as if he was afraid the answer would be 'no'.

"Of course he knows!" Elrohir said sanctimoniously, even though he had no intention of telling his brother that it had not been his idea to wait until their father was informed before he bonded with Jeren. "He performed the rite."

"The rite?" Elladan asked, clearly confused.

"We had a rite, in deference to Jeren's Humanity. It was very moving and beautiful."

"Yes, well, I would have liked to have been present, to observe this rite," Elladan said, rising from his place on the log, "but my brother did not see fit to inform me of its occurrence."

Elrohir stepped closer to his twin, his anger obvious. Elladan would have had to have been blind not to see the threat in his eyes. "As I said, there was no time."

The two of them were now face to face, glowering at one another. In the past, Elrohir had always stood down. But not this time…

They stared into each other's eyes for several more seconds, which dragged on into seeming like hours. It was finally Elladan who looked away, and then walked a short distance from his brother. Neither said anything for a few minutes, but finally Elladan said, "I think there's more on your mind that you are not saying. I would like to hear what you are keeping to yourself."

Elrohir continued to stare at Elladan for seconds longer, and then he, too, looked away. He took a deep breath, calming himself. Now that he had his chance to talk to Elladan, he found his anger cooling. He wanted badly to step back into his old role as peacemaker to his brother, to ease Elladan's heart, but he knew his jealousy would forever fester if he didn't voice it in some way. Yet he could not find the words.

"It has to do with Jeren, doesn't it?" Elladan asked. "Whatever it is cannot be so terrible that you cannot share it with me." He waited a full minute, his anger growing more with every second. "Do not make me drag it from your mind, Elrohir," Elladan threatened. "You know I can and I will."

Elrohir shut his eyes, remembering the one time his brother had violated his trust, had somehow broken the shield that he'd erected to keep his twin's mind away. He'd never understood how Elladan had accomplished such a thing, had no way to guard against it or retaliate if he succeeded in doing so again. When Elladan had done it the one time he had, they had been very young, and Elrohir had not spoken to him for weeks, neither mind to mind, nor with his voice. In the end, Elladan had tearfully apologized and had promised to never do such a thing again. Elrohir didn't know if Elladan had forgotten the incident or just no longer cared that he might break his oath.

As Elrohir stared at his brother, he saw his twin deflate before his eyes. It wasn't often that Elrohir witnessed his brother's defeat, but it seemed as if he was about to. Elladan came back to within inches of his twin, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet and no longer angry. "Whatever it is, Elrohir, I want to know. We've been too separated for too long. I ache for our closeness once more. If you cannot voice it, just let me in so that I can see for myself. I promised you before that I would never violate you again, and I mean to keep that promise, even if I go away from you now without knowing your heart."

Elrohir looked away this time, but quickly glanced back at his twin. "All right, Elladan; see for yourself. But I must warn you, it isn't pretty, nor is it something I am proud of."

The twins opened their minds, each able to see in feelings as clear as pictures what the other's thoughts were. Elrohir knew the exact moment that his brother became aware of his jealousy, because Elladan physically winced at the revelation.

After several minutes had gone by, Elladan closed his eyes and turned his face away, but quickly gazed back into Elrohir's eyes again. "I am sorry, Brother," he said with utmost sincerity.

When the two of them opened their minds to one another, the enhanced link lingered, so that feelings were more easily understood and interpreted for a short while afterward. There could be no misunderstanding between the two, because they were still faintly connected at this point. "Rest assured, Jeren is yours; I understand that and will never violate your trust. Never."

"I meant no disrespect to you Elladan," Elrohir said unnecessarily, because his twin could still feel his brother's emotions through their bond. "I knew you would never do anything of the sort; I just could not get a handle on my jealousy. But seeing your mind—how you truly feel about her—puts my mind at rest in this matter. We need never discuss it again."

Elladan grabbed one of Elrohir's arms and pulled him into an embrace. "I want us to not be crosswise with each other about anything anymore. I feel it is important that we stay connected—we need each other, Elrohir." He paused for a moment, releasing his twin before he added, much more quietly, "at least I need you, Brother."

Elrohir took a deep breath, knowing it was his accepted role to lighten the atmosphere that suddenly hung about them like a heavy cloak. "You are right, Elladan; we do need to stop this intense shielding we've been employing—it does keep us too separate. And besides, this marriage bond needs managing, and I cannot seem to deal with both bonds efficiently at the same time. It has already gotten me into trouble once."

Elladan smiled, then chuckled. "You'll have to tell me about that bond sometime. I'm sure it is interesting to say the least." He clapped Elrohir on the shoulder then. "I suppose congratulations are in order."

"Congratulations are accepted."

They both looked up when Jeren came into the clearing with a rabbit in each hand. Yes, they were small, but they would feed the three of them tonight in fine fashion, and her face reflected the joy she felt at having been able to provide them with a meal.

"Well don't just stand there," she said, "help me get these two little beasts over the fire to roast. I'm starving!"

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**A/N: I am sorry for taking so long to post this chapter. Real life, bad backs, and other minor ills have kept me away from the keyboard for far too long! I hope to not take so long with the rest of the chapters in this story. Again, my apologies for the long wait between this chapter and the last...**

**A/N2: I hope the wait was worth it dear readers, if you're still out there! I would like to thank in advance anyone who would care to review and let me know what you liked or didn't like about this chapter, or the whole story so far, for that matter.**


	28. Chapter 28

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"You should have seen her face!" Elrohir exclaimed, as he ducked a playful fist from his wife. "She'd gone into a cave to inspect it, and came running out of it seconds later with a huge boar nipping at her heels!" Everyone in the room laughed, including Jeren, as Elrohir told of one of their more humorous adventures during the first two weeks of their scouting together. Jeren was sitting on the arm of Elrohir's chair in Elrond's study after the evening meal. They'd arrived home just that afternoon. Glorfindel and Elladan sat on the sofa, with Elrohir and Jeren seated on one of the overstuffed chairs opposite them and Elrond on the other.

"I think I could have taken him," Jeren said, with a furled brow, although it was obvious she was only jesting, since she broke into laughter after she'd made the remark.

Elrohir gave her a squeeze around the waist. "Maybe so," he said with a chuckle, "but I felt as if I must do something, else he was going to take a sizeable bite out of your beautiful rump right then!" Everyone laughed again, but Elrohir's face, while he wore a smile, had hints of the real strain he felt at the time etched around his eyes. The incident was somewhat humorous now, but when it happened, Elrohir was not in any way entertained.

Yesterday afternoon, Elrohir's heart had leapt to his throat when Jeren had come running out of the cave with the boar bearing down on her. He'd had his bow ready before she'd entered the cavern, so without even stopping to think, he'd let fly with an arrow as soon as he had a clean shot. The minute she'd realized the brute was down, she'd stopped in her flight and had doubled over laughing. It took Elrohir several seconds before he could join her. They then had the problem of what to do with all the meat. The animal was huge, and could have fed Imladris for at least a week, but they only had their two mounts on which to carry it. So they dressed the boar out right there in the field and stored the choicest pieces in sections of the wild pig's own hide, having to regretfully leave the rest behind. But they both knew that before even the next day was over, scavengers and vultures would have the gigantic carcass cleaned of anything edible that the two of them had had to sacrifice. And tonight they'd dined on roasted boar—a fitting end to the bad-tempered beast, as far as Elrohir was concerned.

"Since it was such a large boar, your aim must've been steady," Elladan said, looking as if he'd had no trouble recognizing the fear on Elrohir's face.

Elrohir's eyes met his brother's. "Yes, it was very large, but I had time enough, and my vantage point was good. It only took one shot to the eye and he was down." He didn't like Elladan's expression. His twin was reading him again, and since they'd decided not to shield their link to each other quite so heavily, Elrohir knew Elladan could gain some insight through it as well. He'd not really had an in depth discussion with his brother, about his choice of a Human wife and what that decision entailed for every Elf, him in particular. He certainly didn't like showing his feelings to Elladan in this way, with the emotion evidently written plainly all over his face.

"It is to your credit that you kept your cool; not every Elf who sees his wife being chased by something that large and lethal would have remained calm enough to fell the beast." Again Elrohir knew that Elladan was hinting at Jeren being Human, and what her death might mean for Elrohir's continued existence—or perhaps his extinction.

Jeren seemed to sense Elrohir's unease, because she interrupted the twins' conversation. "Regardless, we certainly ate well tonight!" Again the room erupted in laughter, and the look Elrohir gave Jeren told her of his thanks.

Elrohir had been leaving out the parts in the story where he had been afraid that Jeren would come to harm if he let her out of his sight. He had slowly been able to accept Jeren's full participation as a scout. It had taken some time, but Jeren's idea—that he try to feel her confidence as a warrior through their marriage bond—had begun to generate good results. He still did not want her out in the wild alone—or even with a scout other than him. But he had softened a great deal, now being able to allow her to do her share of the work without it making him sick with worry. He was afraid the charging boar might have set him back a little, but he would only know that when they returned to the wild.

They'd had a good visit with Elladan after he'd surprised them at the waterfall, and he had spent that night at their campsite. He had then gone on to Imladris the following day, with the promise of seeing the pair at home after their second week of scouting was finished. But as the week had continued, apprehension about something else began to take hold in Elrohir's heart.

He'd not told Jeren, and he hoped she would not get a hint of it through their bond, but before they'd crossed the Bruinen to return home, he could feel the presence of Orcs, and although the sensation was faint, he suspected that they were not that far away. He'd not told her at the time because the uneasy feeling was vague, and while he knew it was caused by Orcs, he could not tell their location or numbers. He detested the fact that when he and Jeren went back out in a few days, that they would have to head south, because that was the direction from which his ill feelings were emanating. He so badly did not want to take Jeren anywhere near Orcs, but it was their task, and they would do it. He knew he would have to tell her about this before they set out again. It would make her angry if she ever caught him shielding her from any duty because it was dangerous and he was afraid for her. In this case, that isn't what happened, but he was afraid she would not believe him, because of all the trouble he'd been having allowing her to be a full scout. She wanted to be involved in the defeat of any and all Orcs, and she did not want to be granted any special favors because of who she was—or who she was married to.

He contemplated telling Glorfindel of his suspicions, or taking reinforcements when they left again, but he had no tangible evidence, other than 'a feeling'. He sighed to himself as he considered his next actions, but he didn't like his choices. At least he had a few more days to decide.

Ever the healer, Elrond asked, "How is your arm holding up, Dear One?"

"Very well, Father," she said. She had tried to call him that several times, but always caught herself before it slipped from her mouth. But not this time. It was as if the longer she was married to Elrohir, and the more of his emotions she felt through their bond, the easier it was to think of Elrond as truly her sire, too. "I doubt I will ever have speed with the bow again, but my sword work is becoming first rate." She looked pointedly at Elrohir, as if waiting for him to challenge this assumption of hers.

And the old Elrohir might have done just that. But the new—bonded—Elrohir knew better than to start an argument simply because it might irritate Jeren. But more importantly, he didn't have the desire to do so anymore. "Yes, your sword work is improving all the time. But as you have said, your bow will probably never be your strong suit again."

"That is a shame," Elladan put in, "because you really were gifted with the bow."

"My aim is still very good," Jeren admitted, "it's just that my right arm remains stiff—and is likely to be so for the rest of my life. I just do not have the speed I need to use the bow in self-defense. If I am cosseted well away, I could do very well in a line of archers. I could also do well as a sniper, I think…"

"As long as your target was a turtle, or some other beast just as slow," Elrohir said, an impertinent grin on his face, as he leaned away from her in case she might seek retribution. In this case he wasn't trying to bait Jeren, so much as distract her from the bent the conversation had been taking, so that she wasn't dwelling on no longer being able to perform one of the things she had been best at in her life. He could feel through their bond the real ache she felt, whenever the subject came up, no matter how she might try to convey the feeling that she was completely at peace with her loss.

But Jeren was in such a good mood at being home again, she merely shoved at his shoulder as she snorted. "I have shot at—and killed—some swift-moving game, as you well know!" she said playfully. "Give me more time, and I just might prove you wrong one of these days."

"As much as I would love to sit and while away the hours with some of my favorite people," Elrond said, rising from his chair, "I must busy myself. There's much to puzzle out these days and too few hours in which to do it."

Everyone else took their cues from the Elf lord and rose, filing from the room as Elrond seated himself at his desk. Jeren went around behind him, and leaned over and hugged him, resting her chin on his shoulder for a few seconds.

"I missed you, you know," she said wistfully.

Elrond placed his hands on hers, as they rested against his chest. "And I you, Young One."

She kissed his cheek and stood up, but he held onto one of her hands. "Sleep well," was all he said as he looked at her, his eyes showing the same love he'd held for her since she'd come to Imladris all those years ago.

She smiled at him, as if remembering those times gone past, when she would retire for the night and leave him here in his study.

It seemed as if he was always working…

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Elladan waylaid Elrohir in the corridor outside their father's study. "What say you invite me into your new lodgings, so you and I can have a little time to talk?" At Elrohir's expression, which was mixed with both frustration and annoyance, Elladan added, "I won't stay long—you will still be able to see to your wife after I am gone."

Elrohir could feel his old resentment stir, at Elladan's bold reference to what he considered his private business with Jeren, but he quickly tamped it down. His brother had allowed him to 'see' his feelings for her, and just what his intentions ever were or would ever be toward her. His irritation turned to acceptance; he was very tired and all he truly wanted to do was rest. _ Well, rest, and be with Jeren..._

"I had forgotten—you haven't seen our new room. Father gave it to us as a bonding gift." He led the way up the stairs.

"Where is Jeren, anyway?" Elladan asked. "She hasn't already gone on ahead, has she?"

"No, she stopped to say goodnight to Father. And I imagine she will visit the kitchens before she comes to our room for the night. The woman eats as if her stomach is a bottomless pit."

Elladan laughed as Elrohir opened the door to the suite of rooms he now shared with Jeren. He showed his brother around for a moment, but it wasn't as if Elladan had never been in one of these groups of rooms before, so it was a very simple and forthright tour, which ended back in the sitting room. Elrohir poured a little wine into two glasses that sat on a tray, along with a decanter, on a small table between their seats. They each sat down, with Elrohir in a grand leather chair and Elladan on the blue brocade sofa that was the largest piece of furniture in the room.

"So, what did you have in mind to discuss?" Elrohir asked, although he thought he knew the answer—Elladan was sure to interrogate him about how he managed to find himself bonded—_and_ to a Human.

"I had no inkling about your feelings for Jeren—other than I knew you felt brotherly toward her. Is this what all your brooding was about earlier in the year, before Jeren was injured and you brought her home to Father?"

"Yes, Elladan," Elrohir said, almost irritated with this line of questioning. _Why did Elladan feel the need to know all of this ancient history?_ _And now of all times? _He consciously calmed himself again; he knew that trying to hurry Elladan along was not going to get his twin gone any faster.

"I started having—strange and unwished for thoughts about her. Feelings that were distinctly 'unbrotherly', and it sickened me to the point of not being able to stand myself."

"But why?" Elladan asked. "You are adult—so is Jeren. What was so terrible?"

"Can you imagine realizing you are lusting after someone you'd thought of as a sibling—or a daughter even? It made me feel depraved."

Elladan sat back in his chair and took a sip of his wine. "Ah yes; I suppose that would be somewhat disconcerting—"

"More than just somewhat, Brother…"

Elladan raised his brows and then asked, "What happened? Did you just wake up one day, desiring her?"

"No, it was a gradual thing," he admitted. "At first I caught myself admiring her curves, but dismissed it as being just a passing fancy. But eventually, I started finding myself in flights of fantasy, with her as my focus. I was sick with worry about how and why I had become so corrupt." He sat back in his chair then, placing his feet on the long, squat table in front of the furniture to relax a bit more. "It wasn't until I brought Jeren home to Father to heal that he took me aside, wanting to know what had me so fractious. I'd had a small altercation with Rhyse, and Father took exception to my treatment of him, since he was a guest in our home."

Elladan sat forward. "You did?" His grin was so guileful that Elrohir wanted to laugh. It had been long since Elrohir had seen the mischievousness in Elladan that he had enjoyed conspiring with as a child.

"I haven't admitted this to anyone, but I was jealous of Rhyse—he had Jeren and I did not. More importantly, I thought he wasn't treating her with the respect and love that he owed her, and when I'd had enough, I let him know."

Elladan's grin turned into a wry smile. "You didn't hurt him, did you?"

"No I didn't hurt him. I barely touched the man."

Elladan laughed outright then, and Elrohir joined him. They clinked their glasses in a silent toast and sat back again.

"As it turns out, our father was responsible for the change in my feelings toward Jeren—"

"—How can that be, Elrohir?" Elladan interrupted. "It isn't as if he can conjure love spells—"

"—No, but he does do mind healing, and his attempts at making me less sensitive to fighting alongside Jeren is what did it."

Elladan still looked skeptical, but he didn't say anything, waiting for Elrohir to continue, so that he could explain this extraordinary accusation he'd made against their father.

"I had several mind healing sessions with him for somewhat over a year, starting soon after Jeren became a full ranger."

Elladan frowned at this disclosure, because he'd never noticed Elrohir's absence for any period of time. "Where was I when these sessions were going on?"

"You were around, but generally preoccupied with some Elleth or another," Elrohir said, and he tried not to allow a superior note to enter his voice. His brother had made his choices and Elrohir had made his own. Even though he had disagreed with what Elladan had chosen to do when it came to courtship, bonding and chastity, he would not fault him. He had a feeling that Elladan would pay some sort of price in the end, although he did not know what that would be.

"I have no memory of any of the individual sessions, but Father has told me that he suggested to me that Jeren was an adult, and that I was not her father or even her brother, and I had no such responsibility toward her. He said that he belabored that detail—that I was not, nor had I ever been, related to Jeren, and that I need not keep up my constant vigilance over her during battles. The point of his attempts at mind healing, after all, was that I would stop being distracted when I fought in battles in which she was also present. And as he says, he thinks he convinced me too well. Since I loved her already, it was an easy transition for me to turn that into the romantic love it became. The irony of it all is that the sessions didn't heal what he was trying to set to rights in the first place."

"So it was all a waste of time, then?" Elladan asked, shaking his head.

"Well that depends on your outlook. I am completely happy with the way things turned out. But of course Father wasn't at all pleased with this revelation of mine, nor of his part in bringing it about, and he tried to talk me out of it then, but my feelings only grew stronger. I've always loved her, and, adding the sensual nature of my almost constant thoughts about her, there was no way I could just leave it be; not unless she clearly did not want me in that way." He took another sip of his wine before he continued. "After Rhyse went back to the settlement, I told her how I felt—in a roundabout way—and she promised to consider what I'd told her. And, obviously, she decided that she loved me, too."

"She certainly had me fooled. I thought she was really in love with Rhyse," Elladan said pensively. "I have to say this surprises me a great deal. I did not think she would ever leave him for another."

"It wasn't like that, Elladan," Elrohir said, his voice taking on an edge. He had no intention of allowing his brother to think that Jeren was a capricious lover, who would become distracted from her current interest to seek the pleasures of another. He got up from his chair and began to walk the room, stopping at the table with the crystal lamp on it and staring into its flame for a moment. "Jeren wasn't herself after that Orc almost took her arm off. She spent a few months in a deep depression—very low—fearing she would be worthless to anyone, as long as she only had one working arm. She thought she'd never use her weapons again. Rhyse could not deal with her reaction, and he finally confronted her. He wanted her to be the same Jeren that she had always been, but I could have told him then that she'd seen too much—been through too many heartbreaks—and that she wouldn't be the same ever again. But he could not see it for himself, and he began criticizing her most cruelly. I couldn't allow him to keep saying the things to her that he was saying. That is when I stepped in."

Elrohir approached Elladan then, sitting next to him on the sofa. "They parted unhappily. It gave Jeren time to think, and then to decide if she could love someone who had rejected her when she was at a very low point in her life. She was already on her way to falling out of love with him before I ever made my feelings known to her."

They were both quiet for a few minutes, each sipping their wine and contemplating life and its many twists and turns.

"I didn't know what a bent toward drama your life was taking," Elladan said, a small smile on his lips. "Let's not be so distant with one another again, Brother."

They each held their glasses up in a salute to the other and drank another small sip from their wine.

"And now the question I've been wanting to ask since I learned of your bonding—what was Father's reaction? He's told us innumerable times the madness of joining our race with another. Surely he was unhappy when you told him the two of you were going to bond."

"Unhappy is a mild word for his reaction," Elrohir stated bluntly. "He was angry, he was hurt, but mostly he was worried for me." He stopped for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts, before he continued. "I do not know what the future holds, Elladan, but I know this: my life would not be worth living if Jeren were not the center of it. I love her, and I feel as if our bonding was almost predestined." He paused, watching his brother's face. He'd opened his mind fully so that Elladan could really feel through their bond exactly what he was saying, and Elladan's expression reflected that.

"I can feel that what you speak is the complete truth," Elladan said, dragging his eyes away from Elrohir's, his voice soft with the affection he felt for his twin. "When I first learned of your bonding, I wondered if Jeren truly understood the magnitude of what she was doing—by bonding to you she signs your death warrant—" He held up a hand when Elrohir moved to protest his twin's strong statement, because he was not yet finished with what he had to tell his cherished brother. "—but I can see now that, had she not bonded to you, your fate might have ultimately been the same. I think you truly could not have lived without her."

Elrohir placed his arm around his twin's shoulders. "I am counting on you and our bond to see me through when her time is at an end, Elladan. I have no intention of fading away, but as I understand these things, I think an Elf does not have much choice in the matter."

Elladan hugged Elrohir to him then, fiercely for a moment, and then released him, looking at him with eyes awash with emotion. "I will not allow you to fade. You can count on me, Brother."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren and Elrohir lay entwined on the couch on their veranda. They'd spent the night in their bed, thankful for its softness after weeks of camping and sleeping on the damp, hard ground. But at dawn Elrohir had woken Jeren, running kisses down the back of her neck, and after they'd made love, they had moved. The couch was situated well back, so that they were not putting on a show for anyone who happened to be down below on the walkways of Imladris, with Jeren lying in Elrohir's arms, a sheet twisted around both of them.

"It is a good thing this veranda is so deep within our room, Elrohir," Jeren said softly, whispering into his ear. She had nothing romantic to say, but she was still in a romantic sort of mood.

"And why is that?" Elrohir asked, playing with the linen that covered her breast. His voice, too, was softly thoughtful; he was content and sated, and wanted nothing more in his life at the moment than to cradle his wife against him, skin to skin.

Jeren leaned back slightly, so that she could look him in the eyes. "I imagine we make quite a comical sight, with us barely covered and your legs hanging off the end of the furniture and your feet dangling in the air!"

He laughed and buried his face in her neck, his teeth nipping at the skin along her jaw. She giggled and relaxed, and then he looked at her again and smiled. They lay there quietly for a few minutes, but then Jeren heaved a big sigh.

"I had the strangest dream last night," she said, and even her tone was odd.

"Humans and their dreams," Elrohir said lightly, but then he frowned. "You said it was strange, but was it frightening? You know you can always reach for me if you have need of me during the night."

She laid one of her hands against his chest. "I know, and thank you. But no, this dream was peculiar, not scary." Her voice trailed off as if she were remembering just what the dream had entailed.

"Would you speak of it?" He looked at her hopefully for a moment. "Now you have my curiosity piqued. Elves walk their dream paths—we have complete control over what we dwell upon when we do so. I cannot imagine how it must be, to have your mind taken over as you rest. I think I would find it most unsettling."

"It isn't unsettling to us, Elrohir," Jeren said, "as long as the dream isn't frightening or strange. And you know that some of the Dúnedain not only have foresight, they have prophetic dreams—dreams that foretell the future. I do not believe I have that ability at all, and this dream of last night pretty much proves that."

"Why do you not tell me about it?" he asked hopefully. "By now my curiosity is almost killing me."

Jeren wiggled around for a second, getting more comfortable. "I dreamed that you and I had a son. I was completely out of my element. What do I know of children or raising them? I know swords and bows, not skinned knees and toy bears. So the longer the dream continued, the more uncanny it seemed."

"We conceived a child together?" Elrohir said, his voice almost incredulous. "I see what you mean about not thinking you have any of the foreknowledge of your people. The two of us conceiving a child together would be—very interesting, according to my Father…" He considered it for a moment, then added, "Of course, I would never say no to a child. If you were to ever wish for us to try to conceive a baby, I would be most amenable to it. I love children. I have never given the idea much thought, because of what my father has told you about your carrying a child to its birth." He coiled a piece of her hair around one of his fingers, then let it fall from his hand and onto her shoulder. "It will probably be difficult for you to conceive at all, and then if you do, you will only be able to achieve bringing the child to term if you lay abed for the months on end it will take. I've never been able to see you doing that, Jeren—"

She started to protest, but he wouldn't let her. "—It's not that I do not think you could accomplish it, if you set your mind to it; I just can't see you permitting yourself the time it would take."

"I know, Elrohir," Jeren said, "and part of me thinks that is selfish. If you want a child, the least I could do is try and give you one. But I am a warrior, not a mother, although I, too, love children." She was thoughtful for a moment, then said, "But the dream didn't begin with me having a baby, Elrohir. The child was just there, and I knew that he was ours. That probably doesn't make sense."

"It makes as much sense as Humans dreaming at all," he quipped, and he ducked when she made as if to slap him.

Instead, she rested her hand against his face, and then kissed him. "Elen's brood is wonderful, especially Jamesica and Charlie. Jamesica reminds me so much of myself at her age, and Charlie's the sweetest little boy." She looked wistfully at nothing for a moment, as if she had somehow transported herself back to Elen's cabin in the settlement and was cradling little Charlie against her, feeling his tiny fingers twisted in the fabric of her tunic. She shook her head slightly for a moment. "No, Elrohir; I am a warrior, not a mother. And it truly wouldn't be fair to a child, to bring it into the world and then leave it for what could be months at a time. Remember, I am a child of a ranger, and I felt the lack of a father, sometimes sorely."

"But you had your mother…"

"A child of ours wouldn't even have a full-time mother, not if I'm true to myself. Papa left me alone for much of the time while I was growing up, after my mother died; which is exactly what I'm talking about. And something else we must consider is that we might fall in battle. I know that is something we rarely even think about, but it is a risk that we take. I truly do not want to put a child of mine through that kind of heartache."

"Do remember there are people here that would love a child as much as we would. Father, for instance."

Jeren smiled at thinking of Elrond, and how he had all but adopted her after she came to Imladris.

"He doted on you," Elrohir continued. "He loved you almost instantly and was most shaken when it appeared that Estel and Anardil were going to take you to the settlement to live." He kissed her lightly. "So do not let lack of love or attention for a child make this decision for you—for us. But know that neither am I forcing the issue. If it happens, it happens, and if it doesn't I am just as content. More than anything, I want you to be happy."

Jeren lifted Elrohir's hand and twined her fingers into his. "I am ashamed to admit this," she said, her expression sheepish, "but my curiosity outweighs my pride in this instance, and I find I must ask this question in spite of that. I've always heard that Elves more or less just wish for a child and they get it. Is that true, Elrohir?"

He laughed lightly, and then replied, "There's a little more to it than that, but there is a basis for that sort of thought. It is true that the begetting of a child is a deliberate decision for Elves; conception doesn't just happen, as with most of the peoples of our earth. After an Elven couple bond—or in our case, an Elf and a Human—when they want to have a child, they consciously decide and then it is conceived. Yet it has been long since Elves have felt at ease enough with the state of the world to actually beget a child. Ordinarily, when there are times of strife or war, as we have been experiencing for quite a long while now, no Elflings are conceived. And it is for exactly one of the reasons you pointed out to me a few minutes ago—Elves hold children as so precious, that they want to spend all their time nurturing and caring for their offspring. One cannot do that and be away in battle at the same time, or spend hours in a war room strategizing. But in our case, since you are a Human, and the time you may bear offspring is finite, we would not have to hold ourselves to such rigid practices. I would gladly try to beget children with you, Jeren; all you need do is say the word."

"So it _is_ true about Elves begetting children…" Jeren said frowning. "All else is the same?"

"Well, the mechanics are the same—the mother holds the child within her womb for the time it takes for the child to be born, and in the case of Elves, that term is twelve months."

"An entire year?" Jeren gasped, hardly even able to form the words.

Elrohir smiled at her dismay. "So now you see why I think it would be hard for you to ever put aside your weapons to devote that sort of time to this endeavor; because for you, it would probably mean completely lying abed the whole time."

He hugged her to him then, wanting to wipe the regretful expression from her face. "It isn't something you must decide now—or ever. I am perfectly happy the way we are, child or no child."

Jeren kissed Elrohir, letting her lips linger close to his. "I love you. You know me better than I even know myself sometimes. But do not let the idea of a child completely slip from your mind. One never knows the ways his life may suddenly turn in a direction that is totally unexpected. Something might happen that completely changes things."

She then got up from the couch, holding her hand out to him. He grasped it, and allowed her to pull him to his feet, and then she led him back to their bed.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Elrohir wanted to spend some more time with Elladan that night, but surprisingly enough, he'd wanted Jeren there, too. They were were to leave Imladris to go out scouting again on the morrow. She was more than willing to give them time alone, because she knew that they sorely missed each other after long separations, but Elrohir insisted that he wanted them both to be present.

That put Jeren on her guard. She had a feeling that Elrohir had something on his mind that she wasn't going to like. She certainly hoped that he had no notion of including Elladan on their scouting mission. As much as Elladan had been the object of her affections when she was younger, he was by far not nearly as affable as his twin was, and she did not relish spending weeks at a time with him as a scouting partner. She hadn't known why she'd not seen it when she was younger, all the while insisting that she was in love with him, but he was much too serious an Elf for her tastes, especially at this stage of her life.

So after their evening meal, the three of them climbed the stairs to Jeren and Elrohir's room. As soon as they'd made themselves comfortable in the sitting room, each of them cradling a glass of wine, Elrohir began to fill them both in on what he had on his mind.

"I suppose I should have talked to you before now about this, Jeren, but I truly didn't know what to say. It is difficult, because what I fear is only a vague sensation—a feeling I have—nothing specific."

She now knew for certain that she wasn't going to like this, whatever it was. "Elrohir, you are confusing me. Just tell me what you are talking about."

"The last day that we spent scouting, the closer to the Imladris border we got, the more I felt the presence of Orcs—"

"—Elrohir! Why did you not tell me then? We could have gone after them! We might could have found them!"

"—I know, Jeren," he said, a small note of pleading in his voice. "Just listen to me and I hope you will understand why I kept my thoughts to myself." At Jeren's silent nod, he continued, "It was just a feeling, but one I have learned through experience not to disregard. Elladan, you know what I'm talking about. Can you explain it better, perhaps?"

"I don't know if I can explain better," Elladan said, "but I do know what you are speaking of. It is just a nagging in the back of the mind, almost too subtle to even notice, but it increases if you indeed are on the trail of Orcs. It isn't as if you can hear them or smell them—it is truly something inborn that alerts an Elf. Sometimes. It does not always bear out. If the feeling ebbed and flowed—was not constant—then I surely do understand your decision to not say anything."

"And that's just it," Elrohir said in apparent relief. "That is what happened. We neared the river and it was nagging at me, but the closer we got to the Bruinen, the more the feeling dissipated. I think they were further south. And that's why I asked you here tonight, Elladan. Would you consider joining us when we go back out tomorrow, just in case this feeling bears fruit? If the Orcs are closer or haven't moved in the opposite direction, you should be able to feel it, too. It would put me more at ease if it weren't just Jeren and I alone out there, if this proves to be a sizable band."

"If you think it is sizable," Jeren said, trying not to let her voice take on the edge of the frustration she felt, "then why do we not just consult with Glorfindel—take a more substantial number with us?"

"I don't know what the size of the band could be, or if they are even still there. I only know that there _might_ have been some Orcs present near there at the time," Elrohir said. "On the other hand, I would hate to face twenty or more with just you and me alone. With Elladan along, I would feel better about the odds, if the conditions were right, and we would be heading somewhat toward the stronghold, so he'd not be going much out of his way when he returns. As I said, this is far from being a credible source of information. It is a hunch—which usually bears out in the long run, but not always. Elves and Orcs cross paths with one another quite often, but they are merely crossing paths—at times not on the same route or headed in the same direction. This could have been one of those times."

Jeren wanted to sigh, but kept her irritation in check. She knew the real reason she did not want Elladan to go scouting with them—she and Elrohir would never get the chance to make love, with Elladan along; they would never be alone. There simply would be no opportunities. She gave herself a mental slap, remembering her duty to Imladris as one of its scouts. She had asked for this task and it was given to her. She would see it done, whichever way proved to be the best to accomplish it. If Elrohir truly thought having Elladan with them was the right thing to do, then she would go along with it, even if it put a crimp in her life with her husband.

She joined Elrohir in looking at Elladan with expectation. Jeren didn't know what he was thinking—mayhap he had been considering the same things as she had been, wondering if the awkwardness that could be present in the situation would be worth the gain of his joining them. But as Elladan gazed first at Elrohir and then at Jeren, she could see him suddenly decide.

"I'll come," he said. "I've just been drifting between the different patrols at the settlement since you left, filling in for illness or injury, or when a man needed leave for some reason. I have no particular duties to attend to, although I need to get back to the stronghold fairly soon because Elenmere hasn't been looking right to me lately."

At Jeren's sudden intake of breath, Elladan reassured her, "I am certain it is nothing serious—perhaps she's overworking some. All those children and a husband to tend to, and little Charlie has become quite the rambunctious lad. He leads her on a merry chase, wanting to go out with his father and older brothers on hunts and the like. Week before last the entire population of the settlement was out looking for him, because Elen lost touch with him and he could not be found anywhere. Eventually, at almost dusk, he was found asleep in the loft of one of the barns. Elen was so relieved at finding him she couldn't bring herself to punish him, which leads me to think it just might happen again."

Jeren laughed quietly. _Poor Elen…_

At first she'd been afraid that Elladan was going to tell her that Elen was with child again, and even though little Charlie's birth had been uneventful, she'd almost died when she'd had Jamesica, and Elladan had advised Elen to have no more children. Jeren had come to love her aunt, and if anything were to happen to her, Jeren would feel her loss in a devastating way. She decided to ask him about her fears, just to put her mind at ease.

"You don't think that Elen's with child again, do you Elladan?"

He looked at her hard for a moment, but then he answered. "I'm not sure—I certainly hope not, for her sake. But she has made a point of avoiding me lately, so I am a little suspicious. And she does seem very tired of a sudden…"

"Well I hope not, either," Elrohir put in. "She played with fate with Charlie's birth. I do not know that she'd be so lucky in another attempt."

They each were silent for a few moments, and then Elladan spoke again. "I will come with you when you leave in the morning. If we find nothing where you believe the Orcs might be, I will go on to the settlement."

"Then it's agreed," Elrohir said, and he did look somewhat relieved.

"It's agreed." Elladan got up and walked toward the door. He opened it, and as he left, he said, "I'll see the two of you in the morning."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

They left the next day just as the sun crested the valley wall. They didn't ride particularly hard, but by the time the morning was over, they had explored the area where Elrohir had most felt the presence of Orcs. They found nothing, nor were either of the Elves alerted to anything out of the ordinary.

Jeren and Elrohir had consulted with Glorfindel this morning before they'd left, Elrohir telling the Arms Master that he'd 'felt' the presence of Orcs on their way in a few days ago. Since it was just a feeling that Elrohir was going on, Glorfindel sent them out to patrol in a southwesterly direction, going no farther west than the Bruinen, and no farther south than the place where the Greyflood branched and became two distinct rivers—the Mitheithel and the Bruinen. Depending on if and when they found any Orcs, and the size of the band, they would either dispatch the beasts then and there, or go back to Imladris for additional aid.

They had gone south all morning, but had encountered no Orcs, nor any feeling of Orcs being about. They stopped for lunch to consider their options. As they ate their dried meat, along with sliced cheese and some bread baked fresh this morning, they discussed what they planned to do next.

"We are still at least two days' ride from the fork of the Greyflood," Elrohir said. "We could continue southward."

"Yes, but it will put me much out of my way for going to the settlement, if we find nothing," Elladan countered. "Let's head in a more westerly direction, and see what we find."

Since Elrohir had no reason to object, he did not.

"Neither of you have felt anything of the presence of Orcs?" Jeren asked. "Nothing?" The tone of her voice made her seem disappointed.

Both Elves shook their heads. "Nothing," Elrohir confirmed.

Jeren noted they'd not truly asked her opinion about what to do next, but since she was supposed to be a full scout, just as Elrohir was, she decided to give it anyway. "Then I suppose that Elladan is right. We should not needlessly take him out of his way. We should continue more westerly, and when we part company with him, we can sweep southward and then eastward, in an arc back toward Imladris."

Elrohir smiled at her and lifted a brow, as if he had just realized his lapse at not consulting her, too. "I agree with you." Jeren smiled back at him, silently letting him know that she would continue to bring such oversights to his attention.

After they'd eaten their fill, they gathered their supplies and repacked their saddlebags and were soon off to continue the hunt for the Orcs that Elrohir had sensed a few days ago, but that seemed to have vanished into thin air. It was soon late afternoon and they were about to quit the search for the night, when Elrohir and Elladan both stopped suddenly and looked at one another. It did not take a deep intellect to figure out what they had alerted to.

Jeren opened her ears and eyes, and even though she knew she did not have Elven senses, she hoped to catch some tiny hint of where the Elves thought the Orcs might be. And then she heard it—an enraged scream. A man's scream, his voice so used up with the crying out in pain that it was raspy and raw. Without thinking, she nudged Two up into a quick canter. Both Elves were right behind her. But Elrohir quickly reached out and grasped her arm when he drew close enough, stopping her.

But it did not quiet her need to find the Orcs, and make sure they did not kill an innocent person. She yanked her arm from Elrohir's grasp and turned on him, intending to render a dressing-down he would not soon forget. But he didn't allow her to.

"Be quiet, Jeren," he said, before she'd even had a chance to speak, his tone deadly serious and almost inaudible. "Do not give our presence away. If we are to have hope of rescue for any unfortunates, then you must take hold of yourself!"

Jeren had never been on a rescue mission before. Yes, she'd hunted Orcs with the Dúnedain for three years, but so far, Joem's patrol—the patrol she had been a part of—had always been too late, coming onto the scene after Orcs had actually attacked a homestead and had killed all who dwelled there. "I'm sorry, Elrohir," she said, closing her eyes, trying to rid herself of the picture of Haleth that had suddenly sprung to her mind. "But we must hurry. Someone sounds in dire need of our help."

Without saying another word, Elrohir nudged Saedren into a quiet walk, with Elladan right behind him. Jeren fell in after the two Elves, keeping Two close on the heels of Elladan's stallion. It wasn't long before they saw a clearing ahead, and Elrohir drew Saedren to a halt. They dismounted, but stayed well within the cover of the brush surrounding the clearing, which was overrun with Orcs. The cabin was at the center, but there was a barn and an outside privy along the perimeter of the clearing, to the left of the house, and they could see six Orcs outside, torturing a man. The sun wasn't completely down, but the area was surrounded by trees, which threw dappled shade onto most of the ground. The little house was completely lit by the westering sun, making it appear almost as if it were aflame.

They crouched where they were, well hidden, and Jeren watched in horror at what the Orcs were doing. The man was staked to the ground, fully clothed, except for his boots. But his arms and legs resembled elongated pincushions, with black fletched arrows sticking out of his limbs at odd angles. While his wrists were tied to stakes that were driven into the ground, the palms of his hands were pierced with arrows, nailing him fast to the earth beneath him. None of the wounds were killing wounds, but he must've been in excruciating pain. Every once in awhile he would utter a curse loudly, damning the Orcs to a place of torment after their death. At the last such outburst, he received another arrow, this time in one of his feet—a place that was painful, but not fatal. Jeren couldn't see how the Orcs could keep this up much longer. The man was running out of places for the Orcs to shoot that would not kill him, and the ground around him was soaked with his blood. _Please be quiet, sir. You will be dead soon enough; you need not hasten the process._

As she looked around the clearing, she spied more people. There was an old woman, huddled on the ground beside two children—a girl and a boy—right outside the back door of the cabin. As Jeren looked closer, she could see that the girl was probably fourteen or fifteen, and the boy was hardly more than a baby, three or four at the most. _Little Charlie's age…_ While he wasn't crying or screaming, he was squirming mightily, trying to get away from his grandmother, but so far, she was able to hold him still.

Jeren winced when the Orc that was standing there guarding them ran the dull edge of his curved sword along the girl's sleeve in an almost sensual gesture. She fought down the bile that rose in her throat. It was obvious that the grandmother had some courage, because she pulled her granddaughter closer, out of the Orc's reach. He just laughed…

Elrohir had obviously heard something that Jeren had not. He got up from his crouch and walked, hunched over, to another vantage point, so that he could see the other side of the cabin. Jeren followed him, as Elladan kept his eyes on the man and the others. What she saw when she joined Elrohir crouching in the brush, made her gasp, her hand going to her mouth to keep herself from screaming out loud. She saw a woman, probably the mother of the children, her wash line full of clean and drying clothes, with Orcs surrounding her as she lay on the ground. Her clothing was torn from her, but she was still resisting them, even though they had already done her plenty of damage. Surprisingly enough, she wasn't screaming. Her face held grim determination, as if she was going to win this fight or die trying. It suddenly occurred to Jeren that the woman didn't want her family to know what was happening to her—thus her silence.

"Elrohir, let's get our bows!" Jeren said quietly. "If the three of us start shooting, we can save her!" She made as if to rise, but he held her in place. Instead of saying anything, he pointed toward the clearing, enumerating the Orcs as he swept his hand through the air in front of him, showing her how many they were up against. There were eighteen Orcs in the clearing that they could see, but they had no notion as to how many were in the cabin or in the barn.

"But we cannot just sit here, doing nothing!" she hissed, hysteria threatening to raise her voice. Instead of answering her, he got to his feet again and rejoined Elladan. Jeren could do nothing but follow him, although she was trying desperately not to let her anger or fear get the better of her. She knew in her heart that Elrohir was acting as he knew best, considering the situation thoughtfully, so as not to make matters more dangerous for any of them.

"What say you, Brother?" Elrohir asked Elladan quietly.

"Some of the brutes are in the barn," he said. I've watched two come out so far, but I have no way of knowing if there are others in there or not—wait, that makes three and four," he said, as two more Orcs emerged from the barn. "There are at least a few in the house. I've seen them through that window near the back door. Thank the Valar it is not shuttered."

"So we would take on perhaps twenty or so?" Elrohir asked.

Elladan gave his head a slow shake. "Maybe. Maybe more. I think there are at least five or six in the house, and who knows how many others are in the barn. There could be a dozen more, for all we know, Elrohir." He looked at his twin then and asked, "How far would you say we are from home?"

"Riding in a direct line, and not meandering as we've done all day, probably four hours, at least," Elrohir replied.

"We should send Jeren back," Elladan said, "to get some help. I do not like our odds if we were to make a stand, with her bad bow arm and an unknown number of the enemy."

"I'm not leaving!" Jeren said, interrupting the two, who seemed determined to make all the plans without consulting her. "These people don't have eight hours, Elladan, and you know it! The man is all but dead, but the woman Elrohir and I saw being attacked on the other side of the house has a fighting chance, if we move now. Are we supposed to just sit here and watch this slaughter?"

"_You_ are not expected to, Jeren," Elladan said severely. "That is why you are going for help. You are the least useful in a battle situation, but your horse is swift. Now go! No more talk. If we are to save any of them at all, it depends on your getting aid for them."

"Elrohir," Jeren started, hoping to turn his vote in her favor, "Four years ago, you and I alone fought off fifteen at one time. I know the three of us can do this."

"We had no choice at the time, Jeren," he said, "and that was before your arm was injured. We cannot depend on you to have the speed to cover Elladan and me with your bow this time, especially with the unknown factor of how many are in the barn. Elladan is right. You must go for help. If we get the opportunity, you know we will try to save these people."

Jeren knew she was out-voted in this, and even though it made her angry, she also knew that both Elrohir and Elladan were right. Just as she was about to get up and find Two, the unthinkable happened.

The little boy broke away from his grandmother and ran toward his father. Jeren could hear his little voice as he demanded that the Orcs leave his Papa alone. _Poor brave little warrior… _The child had no notion of his own vulnerability.

The father, in what could only have been a last burst of energy, pulled his arrow-riddled right arm—stake and all—from the ground, reaching for his little boy, attempting with what remained of his strength to try and save his son.

Elrohir issued a terse, 'stay here' to Jeren, as he and Elladan grabbed their weapons and made their way stealthily into the clearing, keeping out of sight as best they could. All the pandemonium kept the Orcs' attention riveted to the people they'd been harassing, so the Elves got to the barn unseen. The two of them readied their swords and then opened the door, cautiously entering the structure.

Several things happened simultaneously then. One of the Orcs nearest the father cleaved the man's head from his shoulders with one swipe of his sword. Another Orc, one that had been about to let loose an additional arrow into the man, in his anger at being denied his fun, loosed it instead at the little boy. Jeren watched in horror, but the missile did not fly true, and instead of hitting the child in the chest, it went entirely through his left arm.

The boy did not seem to register the fact that he had been shot, since he was completely stunned by the sight of his father's headless corpse. He started screaming, even as he continued to run toward his father. Jeren supposed the familiar arms the child craved were more important to the boy than all the blood streaming from the gaping wound where his father's head had been just moments ago. But the Orcs surrounding them had had enough, and they began beating the child. He was buffeted by fists to his face, as well as kicks to his side, once he was down. Jeren thought she heard the crack of bone, when one Orc leaned over to hit the boy in the head with the hilt of his sword, effectively making the child finally lie still.

As Jeren watched all this unfold, she also watched the grandmother, and what she might do. She could see the woman's indecision at first, over whether to follow the boy in his path, of what could only be doom, or to try and make an escape with the girl, who was thus far unharmed. In a split-second, the woman made her choice, and she dragged the crying girl into the brush.

The Orcs who had been surrounding the mother stopped their torture of her long enough to find out what all the commotion was about, dragging the woman with them as they ran around the side of the house. Jeren got her bow, not willing to watch as the rest of these people were slaughtered before her eyes. She would wait for the twins to come out of the barn, but after that, she was going to fire.

About that time, three Orcs brought the grandmother and the girl back into the clearing. The grandmother was fighting for all she was worth, but all the girl could do was scream. Jeren knew from experience that screaming was going to get the girl the attention she did not want, but she was helpless to do anything about it.

Jeren then watched as the door to the barn inched open. Evidently there were no other Orcs in there, or the Elves had dispatched any who had been. She could plainly see Elrohir as he stared at her, and she waited for any sign he might give her. And then, as clearly if he were standing beside her asking her what he wanted to know, she got the essence of his question through their marriage bond.

_Are there still Orcs in the house?_

Jeren didn't take time to be amazed at Elrohir's chosen mode of communication. She made her way closer, still covered by the brush and trees that surrounded the clearing, and got in place to where she could plainly see inside the house. It was very small—in fact Jeren wondered fleetingly where everyone in the family had slept—so she could see that the Orcs who had been within the house had to now be outside, because it was clear. She took a moment to count—there were twenty-six Orcs outside in the yard.

She didn't know how Elrohir had 'voiced' the question inside her head, but she had to try to answer back in the same way. She went inside herself, where she could feel his presence, and thought her answer, harder than she had ever thought about anything in her life.

_None—twenty-six total._

She watched him nod in understanding, and her heart soared in the knowledge that he'd heard her as clearly as she'd heard him. Elrohir let the door fall closed quietly.

The Orcs were all talking and gesturing at once, and were in some sort of disagreement about something. Orcs weren't easily understood at the best of times, and she could only catch a few phrases that meant anything to her…

"Gimme the girl—"

"You got the woman—I get the young one."

The Orcs were about to tear the girl limb from limb, since each had one of her arms and they were tugging her back and forth between them. The others had surrounded the grandmother, and she was viciously fighting. And then a miracle occurred—she had somehow gotten one of their swords, and she was able to hold them at bay for the moment.

Jeren noticed a movement beside the barn, and realized that the Elves had gotten outside through a back or side door. Elrohir looked at her again, and she knew now where to delve within herself so that she could learn anything he wanted her to know.

_On three…_

She watched as Elrohir counted silently to himself, and she readied her bow, choosing her target carefully. She wanted to help the people involved by hitting an Orc closer to one of them, but knew that the Elves would be concentrating on the women. She waited until the Elves loosed their first several arrows, and then she began firing at the Orcs whose attention was now riveted on Elladan and Elrohir. She surprised even herself at her speed and accuracy.

But she was not looking at the people they were trying to save—she was focused on the Elves and covering them, as they dropped their bows and took up their swords. So when the melee died down and all the Orcs were dead, she was dismayed to see that everyone except Elrohir and Elladan were down—the mother, the daughter and the grandmother had joined the small boy and the man on the ground, and all were all lifeless.

She couldn't believe that this attempt at rescue was all for naught.

She laid her face on her arm and wept.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**A/N: Again, it has taken me longer than I liked to finish this chapter. Sorry about that. Thanks in advance for any and all reviews, good or bad.  
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	29. Chapter 29

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren grabbed Two's reins and led the horse out of the brush and trees. By the time she'd made her way to where the family lay dead, Elrohir and Elladan had gone into the cabin to make sure there were no more Orcs inside. She went to one knee, checking for life amongst the ruin of bodies that lay there.

She started with the mother of the clan, noting the slash across her throat and her vacant eyes. Jeren said a silent prayer as she did the woman two final courtesies: She took off her own tunic and draped it across the mother's nakedness, and she then closed the woman's eyes on the world that had been so cruel to her in the end.

Rising, she moved a few feet to the daughter. This girl had been beautiful and hale, with her whole life before her. She was blonde, as was her mother, and Jeren knew the girl would have found a husband and raised a brood of her own in a few years. Yet here she lay, with a fatal wound in the heart, rendered in the name of hate by the dagger of some random Orc. Jeren shook her head at the waste of such youth.

She moved once more, this time to the grandmother of the family. Jeren supposed this had been the husband's mother, since her gray-streaked hair bore the traces of darkness that her son's had also held. She found no breathing—no pulse where there should have been one, and as she held her fingers against the woman's neck, she noted the odd angle of her head. It looked as if the Orc that had killed her had been trying to decapitate her, without using a blade.

Jeren stood, looking at the carnage that surrounded her. She warily glanced at the father's head, lying amidst the bodies of Orcs, his sightless eyes and the startled expression forever etched on his face. Her gaze wandered, finally finding the small boy, who had bravely tried to make the Orcs leave off torturing his father. She walked sadly over to his little body, her feet feeling as if they were trudging through mud. He was so small! Barely more than a baby…

Squatting down, she ran her fingers through the blond hair that was matted with blood on one side. He'd been fair-haired, just like his mother and sister. It was downy and soft, except where he'd been hit with the hilt of an Orc's sword, and there it was sticky and stiff. She swiped a tear from her cheek and closed her eyes in a silent prayer for the young life snuffed out long before its time was up on this earth. When she opened them again, she continued to stare at the child's still form. But as she watched, she could swear she could see his chest rise and fall as he breathed. She ran her hand over his face and he was warm! She placed her fingers against his the side of his throat and—he had a pulse! She had wrongly assumed that the violent beating he had endured had taken his life!

She was almost afraid to move him, but he needed aid, and she knew that the twins could see to his healing much better than she could. So she threw caution to the wind and gathered him up, walking quickly toward the house as she called out to Elrohir.

Having heard her call, Elladan stepped into the threshold of the cabin just as she drew nearer, and opened the door wider as she approached. She stopped as soon as she reached him, so that he could make a cursory examination of the child, and then he led her to the doorway of one of the two small bedrooms within the house. Just as she was about to enter it, Elrohir was coming out of the room, and in his arms he carried a blanket. He was holding it so carefully, Jeren wondered just what he held wrapped in the cover. He'd been staring so intently at whatever he had, that when he glanced up he seemed almost startled to see her. Then a queasy smile broke over his lips and he said, "Look what Elladan and I have found."

He held the blanket open and inside was a baby! The tiny pink dress gave away the fact that this must be a girl child, and to further that guess, her features were delicate and feminine, even at this tender age. She had wispy blond hair, just like her brother. She was chewing on one of her fists, and from the looks of things, she was just about ready to cry. It must be very close to feeding time.

Elrohir then frowned as he noticed the boy in Jeren's arms. He handed the baby off to Elladan and took the child from Jeren, walking with him over to the largest bed in the room. Jeren couldn't help thinking that the child's inert body looked like that of a doll: lifeless, with the limbs dangling bonelessly as Elrohir walked.

Jeren pulled the covers down and Elrohir laid the boy onto the mattress carefully, placing his poor, injured head onto one of the two pillows there. Before Elrohir had a chance to ask, Jeren went to the kitchen and began heating water, first lighting the stove and then finding a large pot in which to heat the water, which she found in a bucket there in the kitchen. By the time she had the water heated, she'd also found some clean cloths and towels, so that they could bathe the little boy; find out just how bad that wound on his head was, as well as the injury to his arm. She'd seen the Orcs beat him, and the bruises on his face stood out in stark contrast to the paleness of his skin. She knew that, once they'd removed his clothing, they would find his little body in the same condition.

She carefully carried the pan with the heated water in it into the bedroom and placed it on a table beside the bed. Elrohir was almost ready for her. He'd stripped the child, and was still in the process of examining the rest of him, checking for broken bones or damaged organs inside.

Elladan placed the baby in Jeren's arms, saying, "There's a cow in the barn—thank the Valar the Orcs did not kill her. I'll go see if she'll give us some milk, and then we can feed this baby. She's not going to be quiet for much longer." He smoothed the infant's hair against her head, and smiled at Jeren as she settled the bundle more securely against her shoulder, and she did not think she'd ever seen him so captivated before. It seemed as if he'd already fallen in love with this child, and he'd only held her for a few minutes.

She sat on the side of the bed, so that she could lay the baby down if Elrohir had need of her help. She watched with pride as her husband gently bathed the boy's wounds, checking them to see if they needed stitching. The arrow that had wounded the boy had taken a large chunk of flesh out of his arm. Had it hit the bone, the arm more than likely would not have been salvageable, the limb being still so small, the arrow would have effectively cleaved it in two. As it was, he would bear a very large scar, where Elrohir would sew the gaping wound closed.

Elrohir felt gingerly along the boy's skull, checking to see if he could feel any 'give' in the bone. He looked at her and smiled, so she took that to mean there was none.

"He might still have severe injury, swelling in the brain, but at least we can hope not, since the skull does not seem fractured," he said.

"Children look so fragile…" Jeren started.

"But are so resilient," he finished for her. "Their bones are more pliable than adults' are. So many times when their bones are stressed, they crack instead of shattering. Still painful, but more hopeful for a full recovery."

"Where did you find this little beauty?" Jeren asked, glancing down into the infant's face. The baby's big blue eyes were staring up at her, and when she caught Jeren's gaze, she smiled a toothless smile. Jeren laughed, as she looked back up at her husband.

"She was in a basket that had been wedged into the space between the bed and the wall, and someone had hastily piled blankets all around it. They'd been careful not to cover her face. I'll bet she slept through all the ruckus, and that's a very good thing, or she more than likely would have been killed immediately."

"She's so beautiful," Jeren said, her voice trailing off.

"Yes, she is," he replied absently, as he bent his head to the boy's wounds once again.

The boy in the bed stirred slightly, as Elrohir cleaned the wound on his head. Jeren's heart felt like breaking, when she saw little tears fall from his eyes and trickle toward his ears. Even unconscious, he was in pain…

"Jeren, would you go put some more water on to boil? For tea this time. He will need Valerian when he wakes, if we can get him to drink it.

The baby was truly chewing on her fist and beginning to fuss. "What about her?" Jeren asked, her eyes large, as if she feared the answer. Elrohir smiled at Jeren's unease when she had complete charge of the baby.

"She'll be fine. Just lay her down closer to me, and I'll make sure she doesn't go anywhere. I'm not sure exactly how old or mobile she is yet; this will probably be a good test. If she's in peril of falling, and I can't stop what I'm doing, I'll give a yell."

Jeren went into the kitchen and there she found Elladan, looking in the lone cupboard for something, probably having to do with feeding the baby. He looked up and frowned. "I suppose it's a cup and spoon for the job, and we'll try and spoon the milk into her," he said. Then, as if he were reconsidering, he added, "We could try one of our water skins, I suppose…"

"That's a very good idea, but it will take some time to refashion the stopper, so that she can get something out of it without it drowning her at first."

"No, we'll just be very careful of the flow," he said. "Worry not; I've done this before."

So Jeren set about heating more water for the Valerian tea that Elrohir wanted to give to the boy. As soon as she had it near boiling, she went outside to retrieve their saddlebags and brought them in. She dumped their contents onto the kitchen table, finding the medicinal herbs that they always carried with them, along with the kit that contained the needles and scissors that Elrohir would need to stitch the child. She then set another pot to boiling, one in which she could immerse the instruments, to make sure they were as clean as possible before Elrohir used them on the boy. She hoped there was a well on the property, so that she could get water more easily than by carrying a bucket to a nearby stream. But if that was the way it turned out, she would do it. It definitely wouldn't be the first time she'd fetched water a fair distance from the house.

She left the steeping tea on the stove, just off the fire, so that it would stay warm but not boil away. She had the instruments cleaned and cooled, so she took them and a packet of herbs she knew Elrohir would use to make a poultice, into the room, finding him standing close to the rocking chair, where Elladan held the baby, trying to feed her. She was cooperating nicely at first, but suddenly got choked, so Elladan thrust the water skin of milk at his brother, and held the baby against his shoulder, patting her on the back to help her breathe easier. Her coughing quickly subsided and she let out a big burp, making them all laugh to hear such a loud noise coming from such a dainty package. But then she began fussing again, so Elladan took the 'milk' skin from his brother, and again began trickling milk into the child's eager mouth.

Elrohir and Jeren then bent to the task of caring for the wounded boy. Elrohir had gotten all his injuries washed and prepared for stitching. She knew she wouldn't be much help, but she was there just in case he needed something quickly that she could go fetch. He first mixed the poultice, and then she smiled when he pulled one of the long, dark hairs from his head, remembering how the twins had tried to entertain her when she'd been in this little boy's place and needed stitching herself. Elrohir had rudely yanked a hair from Elladan's head, and the ensuing verbal battle had made Jeren want to laugh.

She'd not noticed before, but while she'd been busy in the kitchen, Elrohir had found the father's razor and had cut the hair away from the wound on the boy's head for easier stitching.

"Jeren, help me, please. Hold the edges of this cut together as I stitch."

So Jeren first dipped her fingers into one of the bowls containing a cleansing herbal bath, and then did as Elrohir had asked her to. He placed the first two stitches, and then the boy's eyes fluttered open, and he grabbed for the cut where all the pain was coming from.

"I was afraid this might happen…" Elrohir muttered under his breath, as he caught the child's hand. "Mae govannen, little man," Elrohir said to the boy.

As the Elf had planned, he'd made the child curious enough by speaking Elvish to him, he did not take the time to cry. He looked at Elrohir with tearful, yet skeptical eyes, probably wondering what manner of speaking this person was using. But the effect of Elrohir's plan did not last long, and the child began whimpering, calling for his parents: first his Papa, and when he did not materialize from another room, then his Mama.

Elrohir called for his twin, and Elladan handed the baby to Jeren again, along with the skin filled with milk. She sat in the rocker, watching as the Elves joined hands. Jeren nodded to herself, remembering when the twins had used their version of their father's deep healing sleep on her, back when she'd been attacked by Orcs. Their ability was slight, compared to that of Elrond, but with any luck, this child would stay asleep through the rest of their tending. They placed their free fingers on the boy's head and began chanting, putting him into a sleep that they all hoped would last through the stitching. None of them wanted to hold the child down, if this did not work. He'd already been through the trauma of watching as his father had been tortured and then killed, as well as being beaten himself by the horrible monsters that had invaded his home today. He would only be further distressed, having strangers restraining him and hurting him. He would not understand that they would be helping, he'd only be more terrified. He was so young...

Meanwhile Jeren resumed trying to feed the baby. She'd trickle the milk into the infant's little mouth, which the baby held open like a tiny bird awaiting a meal from its mother's beak. Jeren was amazed at how quickly the infant had learned this behavior, because the mother must have surely been feeding this child at the breast. But before long, the baby decided she'd had enough, and began squirming and turning her face away from the offered milk. Jeren got up from the chair and took the skin to the kitchen, placing it in a large bowl to prevent it spilling onto the floor. She returned to the rocker, and held the baby against her shoulder, as she'd done a time or two when she'd helped Elen with Charlie when he was a baby. She hummed softly and patted the infant's back, and the baby burped a few more times. Jeren was further amazed when the child dropped off to sleep again.

Elladan had stayed with Elrohir, helping with the stitching of the now peacefully sleeping boy. The head wound was soon finished, poulticed and bandaged, and they moved to the arm.

"See the cracks in the bone, Elladan?" Elrohir asked. "Had the Orc's arrow hit the arm in the center, we'd be closing the end of a stump, if he hadn't bled to death first." As soon as the stitching was done, they not only poulticed and bandaged the arm, they splinted it as well, finding a few boards in the barn at lengths and widths that would do nicely. They placed the arm in a sling, too, in hopes that it would discourage movement of the limb, thus helping it heal all the faster.

Jeren had placed the baby girl into the cradle that was in one corner of the room. She couldn't believe that the child would sleep again so soon, but mayhap she'd worn herself out by crying a great deal of the time this afternoon, while the Orcs were outside of the house. Had they heard her, they would have surely killed her. _Thank the Valar they had not._

She went to the wardrobe, trying to find a nightshirt for the little boy to wear, hoping to make him more comfortable. All she could find were the parent's clothes, and those for the baby. So she went into the other bedroom, which contained one large bed and a small cot. She assumed that the grandmother had shared the larger bed with the daughter, and the little boy must've slept in the small one. She checked the wardrobe in there and was rewarded with finding all of his clothes and even an extra pair of shoes. Whether they still fit him, she would not know until she could try them on his feet.

She ran her fingers over one of the seams of the nightshirt she'd found—such fine stitching—almost as good as Elen's. A pang of pity went through her heart, as she thought of the children who were rendered motherless this afternoon. Shaking her head, she draped the nightshirt over her arm and went back into the room where Elrohir was now sitting in a chair beside the bed. She handed the clothing to him, and he uncovered the child, and Jeren helped him put the nightshirt on the little boy, all the while wincing when she'd have to touch one of the many livid bruises on the child's body. They laid him back down and covered him again.

"Why do you not go lie down in the other room and get some sleep, Jeren?" Elrohir asked her. "It's been a long day."

"I won't leave you with all the work of the children. What if one or both of them should wake?"

"Elladan will help me," he said, and at her beginning protest, he added, "I know you hate it when I say this, but—" He paused for emphasis… "—we're Elves, and we do not need the rest that you do."

Jeren pursed her lips, frowning at him and wanting to argue, but she knew the futility of fighting the truth, so she finally said, "All right. But if you have need of my help, please do call me."

He promised that he would, and kissed her. Before she left the room to go to sleep for a while, she first touched the little boy's head, not really knowing why she did it. She looked at her husband, and said, "He's very young to have lost both of his parents. Poor little thing…"

"Children are amazing creatures, Jeren," he said. "With time, he will get over the shock of losing them. I just hope the sight of seeing his father hewn in two before him does not leave a lasting effect, but I would not count on that being the case."

Jeren kissed Elrohir again, but said no more.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Elrohir had been watching the child in the bed for some time now, as he grew more and more restless in his sleep. It was probably just past midnight now, and Elladan had taken the baby into the kitchen, after she'd awoken and had not gone back to sleep. Neither of the twins wanted to wake the injured boy, so Elladan had taken the baby out of the room and had tried to feed her again. When she persisted in her crying, he checked her thoroughly, to see if he could understand what else might be wrong. He decided she was of an age where teeth might be erupting, so he checked her gums and that is where the problem lay. Her gums were swollen and red right in front on the bottom, and when he ran his hand over her face, he realized she was slightly feverish. Teething—the bane of babies…

He called Elrohir into the kitchen by the quietest means they possessed—their link. When his twin entered the room and had closed the bedroom door, Elladan asked, "I don't suppose we have any essence of clove in our gear, do we?"

Elrohir smiled, saying, "Most of the warriors we travel with have already gotten all of their teeth, Elladan. No, I don't think that we do."

Jeren came into the room then, rubbing one of her eyes, her hair a disheveled mess. "What is wrong with the sweet little girl?" she asked, holding one eye closed against the lamplight and patting the fretting infant's back.

"She's teething," Elladan said, "which is not only making her cranky because of the pain, but she's also got a low fever." At Jeren's look of concern, he chuckled. "Do not worry; she is in no danger. Almost every baby goes through this. Didn't little Charlie?"

"I think I must've been out on patrols during this sort of thing," Jeren said, her voice soft and comforting for the tiny child. She held out her hands, seeing if the baby would come to her of her own accord. The little girl leaned toward Jeren, obviously wanting to try a new set of arms. Jeren smiled as she hugged the baby against her shoulder. She didn't know what it was, but there was something about a baby in her arms that made her feel good.

His hands now free, Elladan set about heating more water. Elrohir went back into the bedroom, to sit with the injured boy again.

"What are you concocting, Elladan?" Jeren asked, as she sat in the lone chair in the room that the Orcs had not broken, rocking the infant back and forth in her arms. The table was intact, and she had stowed a large amount of their gear on it last night, when she'd gone through the saddlebags to find the medicaments they would need to treat the little boy.

"Valerian tea. We will spoon some into her so she'll be able to sleep."

"Isn't that too potent to give to a baby?" she asked, her quiet voice taking on a hint of alarm.

Elladan smiled again. "We won't give her much. Worry not, I've done this before. I know exactly how much she will need, but I won't give her more than she can tolerate for her size."

Jeren rolled her eyes. He'd done _this_ before, too! _Was she the only one inexperienced in taking care of children and babies?_

While the water was coming to a boil, he looked in the cupboard, hoping that perhaps teething had been a problem in the past, and the mother had stored some clove oil there. He didn't search for long—the small bottle was right in front, obviously in a handy place. He unscrewed the lid and took a whiff. Wrinkling his nose, he nodded to himself. He thought that either the mother had anticipated this problem, and had stored this close to hand just in case, or perhaps it was a recent purchase.

He took the little vial and placed his index finger over the top, inverting the bottle to leave a little on his fingertip. He bent down to the child in Jeren's lap, and coaxed her little mouth open, massaging her gums as he rubbed the oil onto the tender flesh. She batted her eyes at the sudden, acrid taste, smacking her lips a couple of times. Then her fist went back into her mouth, and she began quietly chewing on it again.

Jeren smiled up at Elladan as he stood. "Looks like it's better, at least temporarily."

Elladan had fixed the Valerian in short order, and before long they had gotten a spoonful of the tepid liquid into the baby. They changed her nappie, putting a fresh gown on her, too. Then Elladan held his hands out to the baby, and she smiled, leaning toward him. He took the child from Jeren, and she seemed to naturally lay her head on his shoulder to rest. It looked as if the Valerian was going to do the trick.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

A few hours later, the little boy suddenly sat up, calling out for his Papa. Elrohir quickly sat on the edge of the bed, and pulled the child, still mostly asleep, onto his lap, trying hard not to hurt him. That was difficult, considering his broken arm and all the bruising on him, but the boy didn't make any sound of pain, he just clung to the Elf, as Elrohir held him securely where they sat.

"Do not let them get me, Papa," the child said in that quavery, 'scared little boy' voice, that of a child who had been frightened from sleep. How well Elrohir remembered another such boy, waking in the middle of the night in Imladris, so many years ago. Estel had been plagued by nightmares for a time, after he'd inadvertently heard the story of how his own father had died at the hands of Orcs. Elrond made sure from then on that the Elves in Imladris did not underestimate the temerity of Estel again, since his true identity was not to be known, not even by Estel himself. Elrohir smiled at the memory. Considering his father's reaction, he had certainly been glad that it had been neither he nor his brother who had been guilty of that lapse in judgment.

After several minutes the child sat up straighter, craning his neck to look up at Elrohir. Elrohir looked at him, too, wondering if the boy might begin crying or if he'd show some of his earlier courage. He did not have long to wait to have his curiosity satisfied.

"You're not my Papa," the child said in a quiet, wary voice.

"No, I'm not. My name is Elrohir, and I'm here to help you."

The boy thought about that for a moment, but then said, "My head hurts, El-ro-heer," as he laid his head against Elrohir's chest.

"I have medicine for that," Elrohir said, massaging the boy's temple with the fingers of one hand. "It doesn't taste very good, but warriors drink it when they've been wounded and they are in pain."

Elrohir saw the child grimace at the thought of drinking something vile tasting, but then the boy surprised the Elf by saying, "Could I have some, anyway? I don't spit med'cine out—not like Jessa does."

Elrohir decided that the pain must indeed be severe, if the child would brave something nasty tasting to quell his headache by asking for it. So while he transferred them both back into the chair that he'd been sitting in all night, so that he could reach the cup of tea better, he asked, "Jessa?"

"My baby sister…"

The cup of Valerian tea that Jeren had made earlier was still on the table beside the bed, even though the boy hadn't been awake before to drink any. Elrohir offered the cup to him in spite of its coldness, because Valerian tasted bad no matter its temperature. The child leaned forward, placing his lips on the rim of the cup, instead of taking it out of Elrohir's hands. In some ways this boy seemed older, but in others, he was still very, very young. Elrohir estimated his age at six or seven, but his size made that guess improbable. Yet at the same time, the child seemed older than the three or four his height and weight would suggest.

After the boy had taken a swallow, shuddering as the bitter drink went down, he leaned against Elrohir again, absently plucking at the sling his injured arm was in.

"My arm hurts, too."

"The tea you are drinking will help that as well." The child sat forward once more, taking another sip of the tea, and then sat back again.

"Did you put this wrapping on me?" he asked, after a few moments had passed.

"Yes."

"So are you a… a… heal-er?" he asked, with what sounded to Elrohir like a cautiously hopeful tone. The child had struggled with the word, as if he were not very familiar with it; as if it was something he thought he might know, yet he wasn't very sure of his knowledge.

"Sometimes."

This time Elrohir was sure he did not imagine the expectant note in the child's voice. "Were you able to put my Papa's head back onto his body? The bad monsters cut it from his neck, you know."

Elrohir shut his eyes at the hope he'd heard in the child's words, as if the boy were wishing with his entire being that Elrohir might have been able to save his father's life after all. "I am sorry. I was unable to do that."

The quiet was deafening after Elrohir had answered the boy's question. He could feel the child's breathing quicken, could feel his pulse speed up and hear his little heart pound in its swift, staccato rhythm. After several minutes had passed, the child spoke again.

"How 'bout my Mama? I would like to see her, please. She usually takes care o' me when I'm sick."

"I'm sorry, but the Orcs killed her as well." Elrohir hated to impart such news to this child, but he would find out sooner or later, and he'd always found that children preferred the truth; they did not appreciate 'candy-coated' tales any more than an adult did.

The boy sat up then, looking into Elrohir's eyes as if the Elf were pronouncing a death sentence on him, and he was only a little child.

"Then Granny will do…" His voice had risen an octave, with this new attempt at finding someone—anyone—in his family that might still be alive.

"I'm sorry…" Elrohir said again.

"How 'bout my Sissy?" the boy asked, his voice trembling with unshed tears. Elrohir simply shook his head.

The boy seemed to shrink into himself, and he slumped back into Elrohir's embrace. Elrohir thought his heart would break when he felt the trembling of a boy, terrified and alone, not willing to cry in front of a stranger. He thought again at how mature this boy seemed in some ways, but in others, not at all.

After several minutes of silence had passed, Elrohir asked him, "What is your name?"

"My Mama calls me Andis. My Papa just calls me—well, he _called_ me Andi."

"Which should I call you?"

"I don't care—" The boy paused, and Elrohir didn't think he would continue, but after a whole minute had passed, he added, "Andis, I guess."

"How old are you Andis?"

"I'm almost five."

So there Elrohir had it—Andis was four, but a very mature four.

Elrohir wished he could take back his answers to Andis' earlier questions, in light of how old the boy had turned out to be. Four was much too tender an age to truly process the fact that one's entire family was no longer alive. But the child had seemed so mature. Perhaps it was not such a grave error, though, considering how grown up this child acted—at four years of age. Yet what was done was done. There was no help for it now.

As he cuddled the boy, Elrohir let his mind wander, thinking about the child. He remembered earlier today, when Andis broke free of his Grandmother's arms and had run toward his father, bravely wanting to help the man as he was being tortured. Andis had to have been scared witless at the time, but his father had been tied down and shot full of arrows, and Elrohir supposed the peril Andis felt at being left without one of his parents, should the Orcs succeed in killing him, had to have been greater in Andis' mind than the threat they were to the boy's own well-being.

Elrohir absently stroked Andis' broken arm as he thought about this father and son. For a child as young as Andis to have run _toward_ Orcs instead of away from them, he must have had a very special relationship with his father. He gave an inward smile, as he realized that these two fellows had been surrounded by females. He supposed that Andis had very early on formed a bond with his father because of that. The two were probably inseparable, spending most waking moments with each other, and that would explain this boy's mature outlook on life.

He glanced down at Andis' face, hoping he'd find him asleep again, but the child's brow was puckered with anxiety or mourning, it was hard to tell which—perhaps it was both. And his eyes were wide open…

Elrohir decided that perhaps talking about something completely different might help take Andis' mind in another direction, so he took a chance that Andis might know how old the baby was, too. "We found Jessa in a basket by the bed unharmed. How old is she?" he asked. "Do you know?"

The boy waited so long to answer that Elrohir thought he would not. Finally, Andis spoke, in a quiet halting voice. It was obvious that he'd lost the battle of trying not to cry.

"Well…" he said, as if pondering the question, his voice shaky with tears, "not 'xactly, but I do know she was born after Yule last year. My Mama was gettin' sorta fat then…"

Elrohir couldn't help the grin that spread over his face at this childish picture Andis had painted of a woman with child.

Wishing the boy would get some much-needed rest, Elrohir asked him, "Andis, I think you should try and get to sleep again."

"I don't wanna," he said quickly, the hand of his uninjured arm clutching at Elrohir's shirt. "The monsters are in my dreams." Elrohir could feel the child's hesitation at becoming too familiar, but sometimes fear wins those types of arguments, and Andis' fingers tightened even more in the fabric of Elrohir's shirt. The Elf smiled. Children everywhere were basically the same…

"Why do you not lie down, so that you can get more comfortable?"

"I'm very comf'table sittin' here, if you don't mind… sir," Andis said carefully, and he chanced a peek back up into Elrohir's face.

"Sir?" Elrohir said, his brow furled, but with a small smile on his face.

"El-ro-heer?"

"That is better," Elrohir said, "but as long as we'll be sitting anyway, why do we not go sit in that chair over there? It looks more comfortable than this one." He'd indicated the rocking chair, where Jeren and Elladan had been holding Jessa earlier.

"That's the chair where babies sit," Andis said stoically, as if he really might want to be held and rocked, but that it might not be fitting for a boy of his age.

"Well I'm not a baby, and I want to sit there. Do you want to sit with me, or lie down in the bed?"

"I wanna sit…"

Elrohir got up, securing Andis in his arms as he rose.

"I can walk…"

"I am sure that you can," Elrohir said, "but sometimes when warriors are hurt, they need a little help. Will you let me help you?"

Andis nodded, so Elrohir made his way to the rocking chair, where he rocked with Andis until the boy fell asleep again.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The following morning was spent taking care of the dead, both the family who'd lived at this homestead and the Orcs who'd attacked them. They'd waited until both Andis and Jessa were firmly asleep again, after they'd been fed breakfast—even though Andis did not have much appetite. The boy had been dosed with Valerian for the pain he was suffering, and Jessa fell asleep quickly for her morning nap.

The Elves had begun to dig the graves for the ones who deserved such respect. Elrohir and Elladan had gone out last night and had moved the bodies of the family members into the barn, using linen they'd found in the house for shrouds. Jeren opted to leave the burial details to the Elves. She always did the same thing when she was on patrol in Joem's unit, because anytime she tried to be involved with burying the dead, when they came across any people who had battled with Orcs and lost, she was sorely reminded of having to prepare and bury her own mother's body by herself, when she was thirteen. She had no intention of shedding tears when she was anywhere near the men of her patrol, and that was always the result when she dealt with the burial of anyone now. Instead, when she was on a mission with the rangers, she would volunteer for 'Orc detail', where they would check the Orcs' pockets and pouches for anything valuable that might be later reunited with relatives of the deceased, if any could be found. They would then drag the dead Orcs into a pile well away from the others, and then set them afire.

So while the Elves were busy burying the Humans this morning, Jeren had the onerous task of dipping her fingers into the clothes and packs of the dead Orcs. All twenty-eight of them…

She found a variety of things—rings and other jewelry that may or may not have come from this homestead; women's hair combs, none of which were very expensive nor worth very much, except perhaps to whomever had owned them before the Orcs got their filthy hands on them. She also found a locket, and inside were the initials 'A' and 'M'. She wondered if it might belong to the woman who had been slain here yesterday, but she truly had no way of knowing.

The search for treasure was soon over, and Jeren decided that the two gold wedding bands she'd found—one large and one small—probably belonged to the children's parents, who owned this homestead. She'd also found one lady's ring with a fairly good gemstone, which she thought might have been the grandmother's. Of course she had no way to know for sure. The hair combs had probably belonged to any or all of the ladies of this house, and Jeren wasn't sure about the locket, since she did not know any of the adults' names. She pocketed the items and started dragging the bodies of the Orcs into a pile a good distance from the house. After a while, the Elves joined her, and with them all working, they got the task done in very short order.

They had discussed when they might take the children back to Imladris. With Andis hurt, and Jessa so young, they decided they needed to leave early in the morning, because they didn't know just how well the children would travel. The trip, which Elrohir had estimated should take four hours of fast riding, would take at least eight with the injured Andis and the baby Jessa, allowing the horses to travel at a slow and unhurried walk. So if they started fresh at dawn, they wouldn't be traveling after dark, nor would they have to take any chances with the children by camping overnight on the trail. The question now would be, whether Andis would be healed enough to start out tomorrow, or if they would have to wait and leave a few days from now.

Jeren left the Elves to the task of burning the Orcish bodies and went back into the house to check on the children, and perhaps find some clues as to the identities of these people. Andis had named himself and the baby, but the daughter who had been killed, he'd only called 'Sissy', which was surely a nickname. They'd not yet asked him if he knew what his Mama had called his Papa, or whether or not he knew his Granny's given name.

Andis was still peacefully asleep in the room where he'd been last night. Elladan had moved the cradle into the other room in the wee hours of the morning, before they'd gotten Jessa back to sleep, hoping to give Andis a little more quiet in which to recover. Jeren checked on the little girl next, and the baby was awake and standing, having pulled herself up on the side of the bed. Jeren ran to her, because the child's footing was shaky, since the cradle sat on runners so that it could be rocked side to side. When Jessa saw Jeren, her wide toothless grin made Jeren's heart melt. She thought about this baby's mother, and how the sight of her daughter's smile in the mornings must have been a wonderful gift to wake up to every day.

"What are you doing, standing up like that?" Jeren scolded, as she lifted the baby out of the cradle. She kept her voice light and cheerful, in spite of the fact that Jessa could have easily fallen out of the bed. "Let's see… Little Charlie was about eight months old when he started pulling himself up to stand. I guess you must be about that age, huh?" she asked, her voice taking on a sing-song quality that surprised her. "Andis said that your mother was 'plump' around Yule, so if you were born, say, in the spring, that would make you about seven or eight months old, and you standing like that in your bed bears out you being that age. We'll have to figure out a better way for you to sleep, once we get you home. And I'll bet you can also drink from a cup. That will be very helpful in feeding you."

Jeren set about heating water so that she could bathe Jessa. The baby wanted down on the floor, as soon as they were in the kitchen, so Jeren placed her there and began gathering things she could use to bathe the little girl, as well as retrieving clean clothes and a fresh nappie for her.

She quietly went into the bedroom where Andis was sleeping to get the things she would need to dress Jessa again, leaving the door open so that she could still watch the little girl. As she gathered what she wanted, she glanced at Andis as he slept. She frowned when she saw blood on his hand, and quickly went to his side to see which of his injuries had broken open during this nap. But what she found threatened to make her cry. Andis had probably feigned sleep after his pitiful breakfast, fooling them all into thinking he was out for his nap, and then had gone looking for what he was holding: a picture that had been painted of who Jeren supposed must have been his mother and father. He was cuddling it in his sleep.

She could see now what had caused the blood—there was a tiny nail in the ruined frame that had pierced his hand, since he'd been holding the picture so tightly. She felt sure that the small portrait had been knocked from its perch on one of the tables or the dresser here in this room, and the Orcs who had ransacked the house yesterday had stepped on it repeatedly, pulling the frame apart in the process. She couldn't bear to take it from him, but how could she allow him to keep it? It was causing him harm, and she couldn't in good conscience leave it in his hands.

She peeled his little fingers away from the wood and canvas, trying very hard not to wake him. She hoped against hope that the Valerian would keep him in a drugged sleep just long enough for her to accomplish this goal. But luck was not with her, and as she pulled the picture from his hands, they tightened on their prize and his eyes fluttered open.

"Andis," Jeren said, hoping to appeal to his better sense, "look at your hand. It's bleeding." She pointed at the offending nail. "Let me fix it and I'll bring it right back to you. All right?" She almost had it away from him, but he tightened his hold again, hugging the picture close to his chest. Jeren winced, hoping the nail did not cause him further damage. He didn't start or cry out in pain, so she thought that he had probably escaped further harm.

About that time, Jessa pulled herself up on the side of the bed, holding the covers for security. Her eyes could barely look over the mattress, but she saw Andis there, and her smile was bright at her discovery. She babbled something to him, patting the bed with one of her chubby little hands, but Andis was not impressed. He turned over onto his side, taking the picture with him.

Jeren picked Jessa up and took her, as well as the clean nappie and dress she wanted to put her in after her bath, back into the kitchen. She stood in the middle of the room, wondering where she could put Jessa to keep her safe, while she dealt with Andis' stubborn refusal to be parted from the broken picture. Of course she could just take the baby outside to one of the Elves, but she didn't want either of those males thinking she could not handle two little children, one of which was injured and the other of which was too young to even walk! Here she was, a fearsome warrior, able to face Orcs in battle, but she could not handle taking care of two small younglings? What sort of sense did that make?

But as she looked around, she could see nothing that would help. The lone chair in the kitchen was too tall and not only would the baby simply crawl out of it, she could quite possibly fall. Of course she could tie Jessa to it, but that seemed a bit barbaric. She could put the washtub over her—trapping her underneath it while she tended to Andis—but no, again that was an uncivilized thing to do. Heaving a big sigh, she shrugged her shoulders and returned to the room where Andis was, and she placed Jessa back on the floor, intending to deal with her older brother.

She put her hands on her hips and bit her lip. She had come into the house to maybe find the identities of the victims of yesterday's raid by Orcs. That had completely escaped her mind, when she'd found first Jessa and then Andis awake. _How did a mother ever get anything done?_

She squared her shoulders, determined to get that picture away from Andis. She sat on the bed beside him, and he opened one eye to see who it was, then closed it again when he saw it was her. Taking hold of the mutilated frame, she pulled on it as she pried Andis' fingers away from the picture.

"No!" he said angrily. "I need my Papa!"

She let up on her pressure for a moment, but did not relinquish her hold on the portrait. "I will give it right back, Andis, as soon as I have fixed it. I can tell it is very important to you. But look at this blood that is getting everywhere. Your hand must be sore…" Andis didn't let go, his large, blue eyes just looked at her accusingly. "What would your Papa say if you disobeyed _him_ in this way? I suppose he wouldn't be very happy with you." Jeren hated to use his father to coerce his cooperation, but she had run out of things to say or do, other than risking having Andis hurt further and just pulling the ruined frame away from him, perhaps causing further damage to his hand or arm.

"Are we having trouble in here?" Elrohir said from the doorway, causing both Andis and Jeren to start with alarm. The Elf walked further into the room, pulling Jessa, who was again standing beside the bed, up into his arms. "What is the problem?"

Jeren abandoned her hold on the picture to straighten up and turn toward her husband. Pointing to the child in the bed, she said, "He must've found this little painting of his parents, while we were out of the room, and it's been damaged by the—" She paused for a moment, glancing back at Andis, not wanting to put a name to the Orcs who had killed most of his family. "There's a nail in the frame that has come loose, and Andis has cut himself on it. I was only trying to take it from him for the small amount of time it will take me to fix it, but he will not give it up."

Elrohir walked nearer to the bed, handing Jessa to Jeren, and then he sat down beside Andis, and without much fuss or bother, took the picture from the child, promising to give it back as soon as it was mended. Jeren's jaw dropped at the ease with which Elrohir had accomplished the deed, and she stopped just short of glaring at the boy. After all, he'd been through much in such a short period of time. She couldn't bear to upset him further by glowering at him.

Elrohir examined the portrait, showing Andis what the problem was and removing the nail with deft fingers, checking the rest of the frame to see if it would be prudent to just completely remove it. He turned it over in his hands, and found inscribed on the back, 'To Anders and Mavis, on the tenth anniversary of your vows', and signed simply 'Mother'. When he'd determined that there were no more loose nails or anything else that could harm Andis, he set the portrait beside the boy and examined the places on his hands where the nail had cut him. He still had a little of the herbal water left over, that he'd used last night to bathe Andis' wounds, so he wiped the new injuries clean of blood with a cloth that was also on the table.

As Elrohir finished cleaning the cuts, he said, his voice just short of being stern, "The next time Jeren asks you to do something, Andis, I want you to do it. You can trust her word. She is my wife, and when I am not here, she stands for me."

Andis dropped his eyes, apparently somewhat ashamed for disobeying an adult that had clearly been in charge of him. He nodded his head solemnly, but did not look at either Elrohir or Jeren. Elrohir contemplated the boy for a moment, and then picked up the portrait of the children's parents and handed it back to Andis. The boy hugged it to his chest and turned over, away from the others in the room.

Elrohir patted Andis' back and got up, motioning for Jeren to follow him from the room. When they were both in the kitchen with the door closed behind them, he turned to her and smiled, already reading the angry protest she had a mind to vent about at this very moment.

Holding her upper arms and caressing them at the same time, he said kindly, "It just takes practice, Jeren. I have no magic that makes the boy listen to me better than to you. It's just that I've dealt with a young boy before—quite extensively."

Understanding dawned on her face. "Aragorn, you mean…"

He nodded. "His mother was with him, but she spent a great deal of time in mourning, unable to give to Estel the guidance he needed. It was left up to us to see to him sometimes; well, that's being too kind. The first several months, it was up to us to see to him most of the time. Eventually she grew used to us and Imladris, and the fact that her husband was dead, and she was then a fine mother to Estel. He was younger than Andis is now, so Estel could not be dealt with logically. But right now, neither can Andis be. I think he has gone into himself, while he mourns the loss of his family." He stroked Jessa's cheek and she captured his finger and pulled it into her mouth, immediately beginning to chew on it. Jeren forgot her pique, laughing with Elrohir over Jessa's antics.

"Elrohir," Jeren then said seriously, "what are we going to do with these children?"

"Well," he said, moving to the bucket of water and beginning to ladle some into a large pot on the stove, "the first thing we'll do is take them home with us." As soon as he had enough water in the pot, so that they could warm it for Jessa's bath, he said, "Did you find anything in the Orcs' pockets which might point to the identities of the parents? We now know, thanks to the inscription on the back of Andis' portrait, that the man's name was Anders and the woman's was Mavis. It fits—Anders, having a son named Andis. And the resemblance between the slain man and the one in the portrait is enough to deem them one and the same. Also, the woman as well."

Jeren handed Jessa to Elrohir, and then pulled the things she'd found in the Orcs' possession from her pockets, spreading them out on the table; the man's and woman's wedding bands, the ring with the gemstone, the locket and the hair combs. She picked up the locket and opened it, showing the inside inscription to Elrohir. "A and M," she said. "Anders and Mavis. So we know that is indeed their names. Perhaps when we return to Imladris, we can get Dariel to draw sketches of the people in the portrait, and Elladan can take them to the settlement; see if anyone recognizes them as kin. Otherwise, I don't know what we can do about the children." Dariel was an excellent artist among the Elves of Imladris, even though his primary work there was scribing.

"I think that's exactly what we will have to do," Elrohir said, placing Jessa into Jeren's arms, and then laying his hand on the baby's fair head. "And if that yields no results, we will have to make many copies of the portrait and take them to the villages and towns near here. This house truly seems to be in the middle of nowhere, but a map will let us know if we can widen the search further afield.

"If we can find no one?" Elrohir looked at Jeren a long moment, his gaze then sliding over to Jessa's little face. "I do not know what we will do then."

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**A/N: Thanks in advance for any and all reviews. Let me know how you think this story is going.  
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	30. Chapter 30

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

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"How much farther, El-ro-heer?" Andis asked, the tone of his voice rising into a whine. Elrohir pulled the boy back to lean against him, encouraging the child to relax as much as he could. When they'd started out this morning, both children had been asleep, but as soon as Andis awoke, he'd tried to sit the horse as upright as Elrohir and the others were doing. Elrohir found it hard to believe that a child as young as Andis could be this greatly influenced by his father, but he knew it was true. He'd watched the line of the boy's jaw harden throughout the morning, as Andis fought the hurting that was growing by the minute, just as Elrohir imagined Andis' father might have done. Mature males of all races acted in exactly the same way.

It was no wonder that Andis was in pain. Elrohir had detected two broken ribs night before last when he'd examined the boy after the Orc attack. He'd bound the poor lad's chest tightly, to help with the relentless ache. From his own experience, Elrohir could empathize, because broken ribs were painful when a person tried to do anything in an upright position. Add jostling about on horseback and that pain turned to true agony. Elrohir could also tell that the boy's head was still hurting him, for Andis would on occasion, rest his face against one hand, kneading his temple with his fingers, as if trying to ease the pain by caressing it away.

"Try to sleep, Andis," Elrohir said. "We will be stopping for a meal soon, and I can give you more medicine then for the pain." Elrohir silently chanted, trying to induce sleep on Andis as they rode, but he doubted it would do much good without Elladan to do his part. After they'd eaten a meal, he would get his brother to help him ease Andis to sleep before they rode again. He could hear Jessa beginning to fuss. They'd need to stop sooner rather than later.

Andis sat before Elrohir on Saedren, and Jessa was held in a sling tied across Elladan's chest. The sling worked well when the baby slept, but she was truly too old to be held in this way. She struggled against the restraint when she was awake, but Elladan's soft singing would then lull her back to sleep. Jeren brought up the rear, pulling the reluctant Betsie along behind her. Andis had supplied the recalcitrant cow's name, when Jeren and Elrohir had been discussing whether to bring her along or not, and the fact that the beast had a name, and Andis' fond expression as he'd told it to them, made them decide right then and there. They'd brought the cow along, since otherwise they would have needed to set her free, and they feared she had little chance of surviving in the wild alone. Besides, they truly needed her on the trip so that they could get milk for Jessa.

They'd prepared for their travel yesterday, as much as they could, packing all they'd need for tending to the children, as well as a little food for them all. They took as many of the children's clothes as they could manage, which turned out to be all of them. Betsie did not balk at carrying packs, so the Elves and Jeren had tied what they could to her back for travel.

They'd found precious few playthings for Andis, and since most children had toys, they'd finally asked him if he had things he wished to bring with them. Andis' eyes glittered warily, his brows rising just the slightest bit. He nodded slowly, and it was then that Elrohir figured out what the problem might be. Didn't most young boys—whatever their race—have a secret cache where they put things they either didn't want adults to know about or that they did not want to share with anyone else?

"Do you have a hidden place, where you put your toys and things you like to keep safe?"

Andis reluctantly nodded, without saying anything.

"If you tell me where it is, I can retrieve your things for you and you can bring them along. I do not think you will return to this homestead soon, and if it were me, I'd want my possessions to go with me."

Andis had then clumsily gotten out of the bed, trying not to use his broken arm, and had headed toward the kitchen and the only door in the house. He cut an amusing picture, the nightshirt he wore reaching his mid-calves, his bare feet slapping the floor. Before he could get far, Elrohir placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

"Where are you going, Andis?"

"To get my important things. So that we can take them with us to Riv— Riv—"

"Rivendell," Elrohir finished for him. "And where do you have them?"

"Outside… in the barn…"

Elrohir picked the small boy up and opened the door. "I'll carry you, then. You are not yet healed, and even though you might think that going to the barn will be a quick run for you, it will turn out to seem like a very long way." Andis nodded again and the two of them went outside. As soon as they were in the barn, Andis began squirming, wanting down, but Elrohir held tight to him.

"Tell me where, Andis," he said, in a tone that left no doubt that he would not take no for an answer. It seemed as if the boy was determined to keep his secret place hidden, as if he were too young to understand that he'd probably not see his home again for a very long time.

Andis looked at Elrohir for several seconds, his face sour with frustration, but before a minute was up, his expression relaxed into a reluctant acceptance. "In the loft."

"It's a big loft," Elrohir said. "Which way do I turn, once I'm up the ladder?"

Andis pointed to the left and said, "That way."

Elrohir put Andis down and climbed the ladder. As soon as he was up in the loft, he turned to the left, but the entire floor was covered in hay. He could search for an hour before he found anything, but he had no intention of doing that. "Where, Andis?"

He smiled as he heard the child heave a resigned sigh, but Andis answered dejectedly, "Over in the corner…"

Elrohir searched one of the corners and found nothing, but when he toed at the straw with his boot in the other, he hit something solid. He swept the straw away, uncovering a wooden box. He removed the lid, finding a collection of things inside: two rocks that weren't the usual colors—one a deep golden hue, the other blue; two pine cones; four bird's nests, along with a couple of unhatched eggs, which he handled gingerly, lest they break and their rotten contents get all over his hand. He placed the eggs inside one of the nests and then stacked the other nests above and below it. There was also a small stuffed bear, with only one of its button eyes and a rip in one of its feet, and a little wooden sword, like a practice sword, but much smaller. He closed the box and descended the ladder.

As soon as he reached the barn's floor, he handed the box to Andis. It was large enough to be burdensome to the child, who could barely hold it without using his broken arm. Elrohir then picked the boy up again and, helping Andis to hold the box steady, took him back into the house.

They had finished packing soon after, and Elrohir decided that Andis should have a bath. Jeren helped get the tub ready, putting water on to heat, but when it came time for him to actually get into the tub, Andis had made it abundantly clear that Jeren was not to be involved, refusing to take off his nightshirt until she was out of the room, with the door closed. So Jeren took herself to the larger of the two bedrooms and did a thorough search for anything else that might help them in finding relatives for the children. She went through the entire wardrobe, paying special attention to the two drawers that were down at the bottom, near the floor. She found another portrait, this time of a man who looked something like a younger Anders, but Jeren could not tell if it was a different man or simply a portrait done by a lesser artist than the one who had painted the portrait of Anders and Mavis. She placed it aside to take with them. She also found a fine quilt, which she added to the pile of things that she wanted to include in what they were taking to Imladris for the children. She knew Jessa would want this quilt when she was older…

They had then fed the children and put them to bed, and they followed suit not long after. Elrohir and Jeren shared the larger bed in the room that had Jessa's cradle in it, and Elladan laid himself down beside Andis, after the boy was asleep. Andis would talk to them all, but he had a special affinity for Elrohir, and even when Elladan tried to pull a switch on him, attempting to make Andis believe he was his twin, Andis knew better. It was unusual for most people to be able to tell the twins apart so soon after meeting them, but Andis did not seem to have that problem. Elrohir told Elladan to fetch him if Andis woke during the night and Elladan could not appease him.

And Andis did wake in the wee hours of the morning—with a scream, calling for his Papa. It was perhaps the fifth time in the two days since his family's death at the hands of Orcs that the little boy had experienced the terror of nightmares. Elladan tried to soothe the child, but he kept asking for 'El-ro-heer', so Elladan finally gave up and summoned his brother.

Thinking about the trip to Imladris in a few hours, Elrohir dressed Andis in his regular clothes. He knew a nightshirt wouldn't be comfortable for the boy while riding on horseback, and he didn't want to have to rouse the child unnecessarily to change clothes just before they were about to leave. As he helped Andis dress, he talked to him about Imladris, telling him about his father, the Lord of Rivendell, an Elf of great legend. He told the boy that while his father might seem imposing, he was very nice, and he especially liked children. He smiled at Andis' widened eyes.

Elrohir gave Andis another dose of the Valerian tea, hoping to get him to sleep again. As soon as he'd swallowed the disgusting drink, shuddering as it went down his throat, Andis asked him, "Are you a… a… Elf, El-ro-heer?"

As he tucked the child back into bed, he said, "My brother and I both are Elves."

Elrohir smiled at the confused frown on the boy's face. "Why aren't you pee-ple, like me?"

"We are basically like you, Andis, but there are a few differences." Elrohir pointed to one of his ears. "For instance, we have funny ears—well, they look funny to Humans like you, but they can hear the quietest of noises. So do not ever try to sneak up on an Elf, or we will—_catch you_!" He used his hands in a pouncing motion, slapping them quietly against the bed on either side of Andis and giving him a little bounce. He was rewarded with a small giggle from the boy, the first one he'd heard from the child since he'd been found.

As soon as Elrohir had Andis asleep again, they all rose and got ready for the day, saddling the horses and tying packs to Betsie. A short exchange between Elladan and Jeren, as to who would be carrying Jessa, threatened to grow heated. Knowing that he would be holding Andis before him on Saedren, Elrohir cut two straws, allowing both Jeren and Elladan to draw one, deciding once and for all which of them would be in charge of the cow and which in charge of the baby. Jeren wrinkled her nose at her brother-in-law when the straw she'd drawn was obviously the losing one. He'd laughed as he'd handed her the rope that was tied to the cow's halter.

They'd ridden all morning and it was now just before noon. Elladan found a quiet, cool place under a stand of trees, and they stopped, since Jessa was truly crying to be fed now. The shade was enough for them all to sit down for a while. As Elladan proceeded to untie the sling that was holding the baby close to his chest, he looked off behind him to see what was holding up Elrohir and Jeren.

Having the cow to handle slowed Jeren considerably. She'd thought to complain about this challenge, truly wishing to manage Jessa instead, but decided against it. She determined that of the two tasks, dealing with Betsie was the more trying of the duties, and she had never been one to shun any task just because it was difficult.

The cow had a mind to be stubborn at times, stopping in her tracks and refusing to budge. Jeren had dismounted and tried to coax the beast by pulling upon her halter. Jeren had finally convinced Betsie to start following again the first two times the cow had done this, but now, at the third such episode, Jeren's luck ran out. The cow stood stock still, with no mind to move.

Elrohir finally rode back to where Jeren was struggling with the cow. He uttered several Elvish words, while bending down and stroking the cow's nose, and wonder of wonders, Betsie not only moved, she quickened her pace.

Jeren's jaw dropped at this spectacle, but she did not fail to notice Andis' worshipful smile as he looked up at the Elf, who had seemingly worked a miracle in convincing the cow to comply. But Jeren's frustration overwhelmed her pleasure at seeing the little boy silently claim her husband a hero. She hurriedly mounted her horse and tied the rope to the saddle horn.

"What did you say to the cow, Elrohir?" she asked crossly, feeling somewhat foolish for even thinking the question, much less asking it aloud. She knew basic Elvish, from long years of association with Elves, but when Elrohir reverted to Quenya, as he'd just done with the cow, she had no idea what he had said. He could have been telling the blasted beast that his wife was a Warg, for all Jeren knew.

"I told her a nice soft bed of straw and all the hay she could eat awaited her ahead, if she would but cooperate," he said, with a glint in his eye and a smirk on his lips. He exchanged a knowing sort of look with Andis.

Jeren made a derisive snort. "I should know better than to ask a ridiculous question; I am bound to receive a ridiculous answer, _especially_ from an Elf." Two began prancing about, as if she were indignant at having a cow pull her instead of the other way around. Jeren urged her mount to a quicker pace then, unable to abide having an eager Betsie drag them both to the shade of the trees.

"What took you so long?" Elladan asked with a barely concealed grin, when Jeren and Elrohir finally arrived with the cow. "This baby is frantic to be fed." At Jeren's glare, he burst into laughter, startling Jessa into ceasing her fretting for a moment. After Jeren dismounted, she lifted the baby out of Elladan's arms, giving him another hard look. She then proceeded with the little girl into the shade and sat with her, while Elladan got fresh milk from Betsie.

After they'd eaten a light meal, Elladan and Jeren began packing up the things they had used.

"I wish we could stay here," Andis said longingly, as he laid himself down on the grass. The boy looked so miserable, that Elrohir almost didn't have the heart to make him go further.

Instead of giving in to that temptation, he took the cup with the cooled Valerian tea he'd just made and placed it against Andis' lips, after he'd helped him sit up again.

"This—med'cine tastes really, _really_ bad, you know," the boy said, his words muffled by the cup against his teeth. The huge blue eyes that Andis turned on him told of the boy's misery, giving Elrohir's heart a little tug.

"I do know how bad this 'med'cine' tastes, Andis, but the question is does the tea work at helping the pain?" he asked him reasonably, stuffing his empathy for the child away. They really had no choice about going on—they couldn't camp here in the middle of nowhere, with two children, exposing them to possible peril in the night. His conscience nudged him then, thinking they could have waited a few days for the boy's healing to have progressed further. There had really been no reason they could not have spent more time at the homestead, other than they were all chafing to get home—to Andis' detriment, it now seemed.

Andis heaved a big sigh. "Yes, it helps," he said sullenly, as he accepted the cup and swallowed a very large mouthful of the tea. This time, though, the usual shuddering at the bad taste turned to gagging, and he lost the meager lunch that Elrohir had been able to coax down him. The coughing and gagging that followed had Andis doubled over in pain, and his staunch little spirit seemed to lose its starch. He began to cry…

After first helping Andis rinse his mouth with water, Elrohir moved with him to another place in the grass. He held the child close for a few moments, patting the boy's back as he cried out his wretchedness over his dismal existence. Then, feeling very heartless, Elrohir offered the tea to the child again.

"I know this is all bad, Andis, and I wish circumstances weren't what they are," Elrohir said. "But we have to continue on our way soon."

Andis raised his pitiful little eyes to Elrohir's and said through his tears, "I know…" He wiped his nose on his sleeve, and then added, "This must be something that's for my own good..." He then reached for the hand in which Elrohir held the cup of tea, and he brought it toward his mouth. He took a swallow, but not one as big as he had the first time.

Elrohir wanted to join Andis in his weeping, after hearing that remark. The boy was obviously quoting his father, something the man probably told him on a regular basis.

Elrohir laid Andis back in his arms, holding him as if he were a baby. Andis did not protest; in fact he seemed to welcome the comfort. "In a few short hours, we will be at my father's house. You will see, Andis. It is a beautiful place. Very peaceful, with lots of nice, soft beds that you can take your pick from. You can sleep, and my father will have some tea that tastes much better than what I have been giving to you."

Andis nodded, but did not close his eyes. He continued to look up at Elrohir. The Elf wanted to turn away, but he was held almost spellbound, looking into the child's wan face.

As soon as Elladan had finished helping Jeren pack their things away, he approached Elrohir, silently asking him if he wanted to put Andis to sleep before they rode. Elrohir nodded and Elladan squatted down in order to be able to touch the boy, and with one hand on Andis' forehead and the other on Elrohir's shoulder, he and his twin started their chanting. Within moments Andis was deeply asleep.

"I am sorely glad he's so small," Elrohir said. "Otherwise, we might not have this great of an effect on him. He has really felt wretched this morning…"

"Just a few more hours of riding and we will be at the river," Elladan said, giving his brother's shoulder a pat as he stood. "I think he'll probably sleep through most of the trip."

He held out a hand to help Elrohir up.

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By the time they reached the Bruinen, Andis was awake, but he stayed quiet and didn't let on if he was in pain. Just before they entered the water, Elrohir edged Saedren up beside Two, and untied Betsie's rope from around Jeren's saddle horn.

"I see the border guard up ahead, ready to greet us on the other side of the river, but I would like it if you would ride ahead with them and alert my father of our impending arrival. Tell him of what we found and what has befallen these children."

Happy to be rid of the lumbering bovine, Jeren spurred Two into a trot as soon as the horse entered the water. When she was across, she greeted first Saeldur and then Feredir, whose task it was to guard the border, quickly telling them a shortened version of the story she would relate to Elrond as soon as she reached the house. Saeldur opted to stay with the party that was just now crossing the river, while Feredir decided to escort Jeren the rest of the way.

She gave the mare her head, urging her to top speed. The horse couldn't run for long, because the terrain quickly began to slope downward into the valley, making their progress fairly slow in some of the steeper places. Before an hour had passed, she and Feredir were making their way through the gates of Imladris, riding up the cobbled path to the back of the house near the stables. She left Two there, sure that one of the stable hands was already on his way out to take care of the mare, and would soon rub her down and give her a measure of oats to eat.

She fairly ran down the hallway to Elrond's study, passing startled Elves in her wake. As soon as she reached his door, she stopped, took several deep lungfuls of air to recover from her breathlessness, and then knocked. She'd barely heard the muffled 'enter' before she had the door open and was striding quickly inside.

Elrond looked startled at first, but then he smiled. "Jeren! I truly did not know when to expect you and Elrohir to return." He got up from his chair and walked around the desk, his arms open to embrace her in greeting.

"Father," she said easily, which would have surprised her had she not had other more pressing things on her mind. But she held up her hands to ward him off. "I am sorry, but I have not taken the time to wash yet. I smell of cow, if not horse, I'm sure."

"Cow?" Elrond asked, the smile never leaving his face. He continued toward her and embraced her, even after her warning.

"It is a long story, Father," she said. "And Elladan has returned with us, too. There was a complete change of plans. The bones of the story are this: The twins and I did discover the Orcs that Elrohir had sensed, but we did not do so until they were in the process of raiding someone's homestead. The beasts had captured a family, and they were torturing the parents, while a grandmother and two of the three children looked on. One of those children—a girl of about fourteen—was killed in the ensuing battle. The others are very small children; Andis, a little boy, is four, and Jessa is a mere infant, probably seven or eight months old."

Elrond led her to a chair, and he went back to behind his desk and sat down, never interrupting her and even encouraging her to continue.

"To shorten the story, we got there in the midst of all the chaos, and I was going to ride back here for help, since there were so many Orcs, but the little boy thought to help his father, and he broke away from his grandmother's arms. That caused a series of events that necessitated our involvement. We were able to kill all the Orcs, but not before all the adults and the young girl were slain."

Jeren stopped for a moment, suddenly overwhelmed as she remembered the event. And that was not all she was remembering. She thought back to when she was sixteen and she'd been besieged by Orcs. They'd used her and beaten her. She'd been injured and abed for weeks, but at least she had been alive. When she continued, it was with tears in her eyes. "I knew from personal experience that Orcs were horrid and vicious creatures, Father, but until I witnessed this, I had not personally dealt with the _total _extent of their treachery.

"I've been with the rangers and come upon places where all the people had been slain by the hands of Orcs, but that did not prepare me to actually witness it as it happened. They killed everyone, even the young girl, because of their hatred of others. I do not know why it was so important to the Orcs that these people not go free. There were no stray arrows or blundering swords on our part, my lord; it was only by the needless cruelty on the part of our enemies that this family lay dead."

She stopped again in relating the story for a moment, remembering the scene—the beautiful face of the young girl stilled forever; the vacant eyes of the mother; the broken neck of the grandmother. She trembled with revulsion, but finally came back to herself. She knew she had to get the most important part of the story out. The Elf lord would need to prepare for handling the children, especially Andis, since he would be in need of the Healing Halls.

"Baby Jessa is fine, thank the Valar," she said. "One of the parents, or the grandmother, thought to hide her as she slept in one of the bedrooms, and she went undiscovered. But Andis was beaten when he attempted to help his father. The poor little fellow was within feet of them all, as the Orcs slew the man right in front of his son. And then one of the beasts shot the boy, but thankfully the Orc's aim was very bad, and the arrow just grazed his arm. But since he's such a small child, that graze left a rather large wound and the impact of the arrow cracked the bone. But the injury could have been much worse."

Elrond got up from his chair, extending a hand to her as he opened his door. He held her elbow as they made their way to the Healing Halls. And Jeren continued her tale.

"Andis received a pretty severe knock on the head with a hilt of a sword, leaving a cut that needed extensive stitching, but he does not seem concussed. Other than a headache, he is not experiencing any ill effects from that." Elrond looked at her as she told her story, and she was filled with pride to know that he would be fiercely devoted to helping Andis as much as he could. "He's also got two broken ribs. Elrohir examined him thoroughly after the battling was over…"

They arrived at the Healing Halls, and Elrond went right to work, calling for Mariel and preparing what he would need to care for a very young boy. A quarter of an hour later, he was satisfied that all was ready, and he and Jeren left the Healing Halls, on their way outside to wait for the twins and the children to arrive.

They took their time, stopping by the kitchen first to get something for Jeren to eat, who was, as usual, starving. Bellasiel had done herself proud, making a plate for Jeren full of cold meat and slices of bread, along with a little cheese. Jeren didn't know why she could stuff herself beyond full most of the time and not gain an ounce of weight. She had been lean and sinewy for most of her life, and at times, when she looked into the mirror, wished she were fleshier and had more of a figure. Elrohir didn't seem to mind that she was basically bones wrapped in skin, so she supposed it didn't matter all that much.

They finally made their way to the back of the house, where they waited until the others rode in. After having killed some time, they did not have long to wait.

The pitiful picture that Andis made, ashen with pain, riding with Elrohir atop his huge stallion, made him look small and frail indeed. Elladan had retied the sling that held Jessa to him, fashioning it instead into a sort of pack, which allowed her to sit upright before him. He'd cut holes out of the cloth for her legs to fit through, and he'd padded the horse's withers so that she'd have a softer ride. She seemed much happier in this vertical position, than she had this morning, having to ride almost completely prone. Her fists waved in the air, when she didn't have one in her mouth, chewing on it. She squealed when she caught sight of Jeren, which made Jeren's heart melt.

Elrond approached Saedren, his face not reflecting the concern he must have felt at seeing the little boy, with his head swathed in a bandage and his arm in a sling. Before Elrond could call a greeting, Elrohir said, "Mae govannen, my lord."

The look that the son gave to the father spoke of a plan, so Elrond drew himself up into a noble stance, folding his hands before him. "Mae govannen, Elrohir. I see you bring young ones to our home."

"Yes, Father, I do," Elrohir answered in an almost formal tone. He'd wanted Andis to feel as if he were important, having somewhat ritual words spoken on his behalf. He hoped the child was old enough to recognize this procedure for what it was and not be frightened by it instead. "This is Andis, son of Anders, and he seeks refuge and healing here in your halls."

Jeren watched this scene, at first with dismay. She could see Andis' face, where Elrohir might could not, and the child looked as scared as anyone she'd ever seen. But as she glanced at Elrond, her fears ebbed. The Elf lord wore the most guileless of expressions, as well as a winning smile on his lips, when he started to reply. He'd also seen the boy's fear and was obviously trying to calm it.

"Welcome to Rivendell, Andis. It is my joy and my pleasure to have you visiting my halls." He'd added even more of the lilt to his tone that was peculiar to Elves, the one that gave their voices a more musical quality and tended to put whoever heard the resulting speech at his ease. He gave a slight bow of his head, and then approached Jessa. Andis' eyes followed the Elf lord's every move.

Elladan had dismounted and had untied the sling and was now holding the baby girl in his arms. Elrond repeated his greeting to Jessa, as she smiled her almost toothless smile. The reddened gums now showed two little teeth, which had cut through during the past two days. Elrond ran his hand over her soft curls and laughed lightly at the precious little girl, happy again to have children in Imladris.

Elrohir had dismounted while Elrond was busy with Jessa, and he was now standing, holding Andis in his arms. Elrond returned to the two of them, now intent on getting down to the business of taking the boy inside, where he could be looked after.

"I see you have met with some misfortune, Andis. Will you permit me to take you to my Healing Halls?"

Andis' answer was not one that anyone could have foreseen. He buried his face in Elrohir's shoulder, the fingers of his good hand clutching at the Elf's shirt until the knuckles were white. He'd tightened his knees around Elrohir's waist, for all the world looking like a squirrel clinging to a tree.

Elrohir was not about to allow Andis to regress if he could help it, for that had been something he'd feared all along.

"Andis," Elrohir said, "look at me."

The child complied immediately. Elrohir smiled at him, but then said, "Now I want you to go with my father. He is a very kind and gentle Elf. He will not hurt you. He is a healer of great renown and I but a student of his. He needs to see to the wounds that I tended, to make sure they are healing properly."

Andis' lower lip trembled and a tear escaped one of his eyes, which he quickly dashed away with his fingers. "Do I have to, El-ro-heer?" he asked in a small and frightened voice.

"Yes, Andis, you do. I will be along soon to see you. But I have to take care of my horse. You do agree that a warrior sees to his horse before all else, do you not?"

Andis nodded hesitantly, glancing cautiously at Elrond before he answered. "Yes," he said. His voice trembled even more and another tear coursed down his cheek unheeded.

So the transfer was made, from Elrohir's arms to Elrond's arms. Andis did not take his eyes from Elrohir, looking back as Elrond made his way into the house, Elladan following behind them with Jessa. When the door had firmly closed behind them all, Elrohir exhaled audibly.

Jeren was right beside him by then, and put her arms around him. "That was hard," she said. "But I'm not quite sure why you did it. We both know that Saedren will be tended by the stable hands. Wouldn't it have been easier—on both of you—to simply take him to the Healing Halls yourself?"

"Simpler, yes, but perhaps not the best thing for the boy," Elrohir said, as he put his arm around Jeren's shoulders. They started walking toward the house. "I was only using the horse as an excuse, trying to find some reason for our parting that would garner his respect," Elrohir explained. "He is developing an unhealthy need for my constant attention. I have no problem giving him all the attention he needs, but in the long run, I do not think it would be good for him were I to indulge him. He is in great danger of growing too dependent on someone else, and that is something I do not wish for him. It would be crippling and stifling to his spirit. He is alone and he needs help, and people will give it to him. But if he grows up expecting only one person to fulfill all his needs, he will be shortchanged. He must learn that he has many friends, not just one."

He stopped just as Jeren reached for the door, turning her face toward him, and kissed her soundly. "I am glad to be home. It has been too long since we've truly shared our bed," he said. The look of raw desire on his face made Jeren smile. She grasped the door's handle, opening it.

"Would you like to race?" she asked.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Three hours later, Jeren and Elrohir were headed to the Healing Halls, much refreshed—in all ways one could be refreshed. Elrohir felt somewhat guilty over taking so long and leaving Andis alone, when he knew how much the boy depended on him right now. But he couldn't feel too badly—he'd sorely missed his wife while they'd been dealing with the Orcs and then the children.

They'd taken a leisurely bath together, since their bathing room was home to a very large, square tub, easily able to hold two people. They helped in washing each other's hair, and then had lain together on the sofa, until their playful kissing turned into something more serious. They'd then gone to their bed and had made love, until they were both sated and relaxed. Elrohir smiled to himself as he gave her another squeeze, just before they descended the stairs.

If he knew his father—and he did—the Elf lord was sure to have Andis eating out of his hand by now. Elrohir wouldn't be surprised if the boy would now not give him a second look, having decided to favor his father instead. It had happened many times in the past. Elrond had a way with children that no one could best.

They pushed through the double doors, and Jessa's baby voice met them as she babbled away to Mariel. The aide had a bowl from which she was feeding the little girl, some porridge mixed with mashed fruit. Elrohir and Jeren looked at one another and smiled. Jessa was washed, with her hair combed, and when she saw the two of them, she pointed and called them by some indecipherable names. Jessa was seated on a bed, with Mariel on a chair right in front of her, so that if the baby moved in any direction, the aide would be able to stop her from going far or falling.

Jessa was obviously an old hand at being fed from a spoon, and she seemed to be hungry indeed. When Mariel would take the spoon from Jessa's mouth to refill it, Jessa would reach for it before it was filled again. Jeren bent and kissed the baby's downy head, running her fingers through the sparse blonde curls.

Elrohir placed a hand on Mariel's shoulder, saying, "I see you've made a fast friend."

"Yes, indeed!" Mariel answered. "She's such a happy child." Then Mariel's face clouded slightly, as she finished, "unlike her poor, sweet brother."

Elrohir looked around, but didn't see Andis or his father at first. Mariel pointed to a far bed, which had a screen around it, and Elrohir thanked her and made his way to where his father had Andis. But when he reached the screen and looked around it, he was surprised to find Andis asleep, and he could see his father's handiwork—it was a deep sleep.

His face questioned without a word escaping his mouth.

"The boy has seen much trauma, has he not?" Elrond asked. At Elrohir's nod, he went on, "By the time I got him in here, neither Elladan nor I could soothe him. He was becoming more and more distressed and he was beginning to have trouble breathing, with the broken ribs paining him as they were. I thought it best to let him sleep."

"I knew I should not have pressed him!" Elrohir said, his voice full of guilt. "He's such a sturdy little man, most of the time. When he cries, it has always been for good cause."

"Do not feel badly, son," Elrond assured him. "You were right in your reasoning. Even I, who had never seen the two of you together before, could tell he has pinned his every hope on you. We needed to test his limits, and I believe we have found them." Elrond turned and walked away from the child's bed, motioning for Elrohir to follow him.

They went out onto the veranda, which was just outside the Healing Halls. Elrond leaned against the railing, crossing his arms over his chest as Elrohir closed the door.

"What should I do, Father?" he asked earnestly. "I cannot be with the boy every hour of every day and night."

"Even if that is what he needs from you, at least for a while?"

Elrohir looked at his father intently. "Do you truly believe that is best for him? Would it not be better to make a clean break, like I tried to do this afternoon when we arrived? I thought to show him others will care for him, just as well if not better than I will."

Elrond walked a short distance from Elrohir, but then turned back to face him. "What did the child witness exactly? Jeren said he looked on as his father was slain before him."

"I am afraid there is trauma as well as guilt in Andis' mind," Elrohir said. "His father had been staked to the ground and the Orcs were using him as their target for practice. His limbs were riddled with arrows when we arrived on the scene, and from the looks of the man, he truly did not have long to live. The children's grandmother was holding Andis back, but he broke away from her finally, and ran toward his father, in hopes of saving him, we think. That is when one of the Orcs beheaded the man, right in front of the boy. Andis was covered in his father's blood. That alone had to have been very shocking to him. But more importantly, I believe that Andis thinks it was his actions that got his father killed. He's so small, his grasp of the world is limited. He probably hasn't the capacity to figure out that his father was going to be killed, no matter what. His running to his father's defense was not the deciding factor, but Andis does not know that."

Elrond frowned as Elrohir continued. "I think Andis held his father in much esteem, perhaps more so than the average boy. He and his father were the only males in a house full of females, and from Andis' demeanor, and indeed his choice of words when he speaks, I think they spent much of their time together. Andis is mature beyond his age in many aspects. And I believe he worshipped the man. So in essence, Andis not only lost his father in that Orc attack, he lost his best friend."

Elrond looked away momentarily, then glanced back at his son. "And the boy has taken those feelings and has attached them to you. He cannot yet face the fact that the one he loved most in the world is now gone, and he clings to you lest he lose everything he holds dear."

"What about Jessa?" Elrohir asked his father. "She is his sister. You would think that would give him some comfort, yet he barely recognizes her existence."

Elrond smiled before he said, "He was the youngest of the children before Jessa arrived. She's so young that I believe he hasn't yet recovered from being displaced in the family order." His smiled faded when he added, "Ordinarily having a sibling would make a difference, and they would cling to one another as the last remaining members of their family. But they are both so young, and their worlds so narrow, that they haven't the capacity for those kinds of emotions yet."

The Elves fell silent, each thinking their own thoughts. But finally Elrond looked back at Elrohir and said, "I know how I would like to proceed, but whether you will agree to it…"

"I will probably agree to whatever you advise, Father," Elrohir said with resignation. "I want to help Andis. He's a good little boy who has been through too much for one of such a tender age."

"I think that, at least for now, you should stay with the boy at all times," Elrond said. "And very soon, I would like to attempt mind healing on him. I believe it is his best chance of living a normal life in the end."

Elrohir smiled. "I started to say that I hoped your mind healing worked better on Andis than it did on me, but I think I will not. While it did not cure what I had come to you for, your mind healing caused me to find the woman I was meant to be with forever. I will never regret that."

"Must you remind me of my failure, Elrohir?" Elrond asked as if he were vexed, but he smiled, too, after a moment. "Not only did I fail miserably in putting your thoughts straight, I managed by chance to steer you in ways I had no intention of steering you!"

They both laughed, but sobered quickly, their minds back on Andis and what would be best for him.

"I think if you are present during the sessions, he will be more at ease," Elrond continued. "I hope eventually that he will be relaxed enough around me that you will not be needed after awhile. And I believe that during the rest of the time, if you are keeping him near night and day, he will grow bored with 'adult' doings and will want to do things children are best at—like playing."

"Should I refuse to play with him?" Elrohir asked, wanting to know exactly what was expected of him.

"No, if you want to play with him," Elrond said, "that would be fine. But you will have other things that you need to do, as a responsible member of our household, that he will find tedious and not to his liking. You know how dull the running of Imladris can be at times. I believe it was you who hid for weeks, when I finally brought you and Elladan in to take over your share of the load." Elrohir had the grace to look uncomfortable.

"I told you I was sorry for slacking, didn't I?" he asked in his own defense. Elrond merely smiled.

"I think that as Andis grows used to his surroundings, he will want to explore as young boys do. You could show him around at first, but then you might have other things that would keep you from joining him at those types of pursuits. He will get tired of shadowing you, especially if you are doing uninteresting things. Jeren or Elladan could take over for you. He will have to accept their help, though; we will do no more forcing."

"No more forcing?" Elrohir asked skeptically. "Most children must be forced at one time or another. They are rarely compliant at all times."

"How well I know that, Elrohir!" Elrond said with a laugh. "You are right in that there are times that children must do what you say, simply because you deserve their respect. But there are other times…" He raised his brows, a conspiratorial expression overtaking his face. "Yes, there are times at which you must make them choose; there is 'force' and there is 'persuasion'. A subtle difference, depending on your point of view." With a somewhat guilty look on his face, he added, "I would fall just short of calling it 'coercion'. If Andis is given a choice between something he deems completely unacceptable and another thing that is slightly less objectionable, it will still be his choice and not his being 'forced'."

"It is a wonder any of your children made it to adulthood with their minds intact, Father," Elrohir said with a smile.

Elrond had made his way back to the door, and he opened it, allowing Elrohir to enter before him.

"No one ever said that parenting was a completely honest undertaking, son. Sometimes a father must do what he must, for the good of the children."

Elrohir shook his head as he closed the door behind him.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

When Andis came out of his deep healing sleep, it was to find two Elves sitting on either side of his bed. But the boy only sought one of them. It was almost heartbreaking to see, as his eyes found Elrohir and they lit with recognition and relief.

But on the heels of relief it was plain to see that Andis was deeply ashamed for all of his crying earlier. His guilty eyes were quickly averted from Elrohir's and the down-turned mouth spoke volumes.

Instead of any reproach the lad might have expected, however, he received smiles from both of the Elves. Elrond poured some water into a glass from a pitcher on the table beside the bed and helped Andis drink. The child's expression bespoke of the fact that he knew better than to put up a fuss, even if he could have. That prospect was almost impossible, since he'd so recently awakened from the sleep that Elrond had cast on him, the effects of which were more intoxicating by far than that any herb could induce.

"Are you hungry, child?" Elrond asked. It was a well-known fact that anyone who had been placed into a deep healing sleep was ravenous when he woke from it, so Elrond knew what the child's answer had to be.

Andis' eyes bounced between the two Elves, until they again lit on the younger of them. "Yes…" he said in a very small voice. His eyes never left Elrohir, as if he feared that looking directly at Elrond might cause the one he wanted near him to vanish into thin air.

"I will go fetch you some food, then," the Elf lord said as he got up from his chair. "I will be back shortly."

Andis watched Elrond leave the room, and then he looked at Elrohir again.

"How are you feeling, Andis?"

"Sleepy," he said with a huge yawn. Then he said, "All right… I guess."

"Are you in pain?"

"Not too much." His words were slow and even a little slurred, from the lingering effects of the Elf lord's powerful sleep. "My head only hurts a little bit. And so long as I stay still, nothin' else hurts, neither."

"That is very good!" Elrohir said with enthusiasm, as if he hoped that his energy alone might lift the child's spirits.

Just then Mariel approached the bed, and Elrohir watched with dismay as Andis' features hardened with worry. The aide placed her hand on Andis' brow, checking for fever. Her deft fingers then found his wrist, as she made sure his pulse was fine. Her brow creased slightly as she said to Elrohir, "His little heart is just racing. That's not usually how one reacts after being in one of my lord's deep sleeps." She pursed her lips as if it were a puzzle to her, and she shook her head as she walked away.

"You know, Andis," Elrohir said, "you do not have to fear anyone here." Andis' expression did not change; the wide-eyed anxiety remained. It was as if anyone strange to the boy was a threat, perhaps allowing Elrohir to decide it was all right to leave him with them. "No one will part us again. I promise to stay with you from now on, or until you grow tired of my presence." He ended with a smile, hoping to get a little of the worry to leave Andis' face.

And he was partially rewarded when Andis quickly said, "You promise?"

Elrohir smiled even wider as he saw the pinched whiteness of Andis' mouth begin to relax. "I promise." Andis' lips curved up into a small smile.

At that moment, Elrond returned to the Healing Halls, using his back to push the double doors open, since his hands were full as he carried a tray for Andis. As he walked to the far end of the infirmary, where Andis' bed was behind the screen, Elrohir could not believe his eyes. His father was actually carrying the tray. He couldn't remember the last time he saw his father with a serving tray in his hands, and that was probably because he'd never seen it before! Elrohir had thought that his father was simply going to request a meal for Andis in the kitchen; he never dreamed that he would deliver the food himself. He decided at that moment that this had to be some plan of his father's, hoping to get into Andis' good graces. The tray must contain lots of the more richer foods the kitchen had to offer, with plenty of sweet things, too.

Elrond set the try on a nearby table and started taking the covers off the food. Elrohir began to wonder if his prior thought might have been in error. The meal was made up of simple fare—chicken soup and fresh bread. However, Elrond left one plate covered, and if Elrohir had to place a bet on what was beneath the lid on that plate, he would bet that it would be some sort of sweet.

Elrohir realized then, when he smelled the freshly baked bread, along with the savory aroma from the bowl of soup, that he was famished himself. He'd not had anything to eat since their small noon meal, and he felt as if he could devour four courses without any trouble. The problem was that he was now pretty much confined to the Healing Halls as long as the boy was. He'd promised Andis he would not leave his side.

"Father," Elrohir said, "would you mind if I asked Mariel to go get me a tray as well? I'm very hungry…"

"What is wrong with your feet, Elrohir?" Elrond asked, though not unkindly.

"I promised Andis I would stay with him while he is in the Healing Halls."

Elrond frowned, but something about his face let anyone looking at him know that he wasn't the least bit angry. It was probably the slight smile he wore. It was then that Elrohir realized that his father was putting on a show—for Andis. And his own role was to play the fool.

"I will think about it," Elrond said, as he picked up the bowl and spoon, along with a napkin, from the tray. "Now, we must get some of this soup into this starving boy. Help him sit up, Elrohir."

Elrohir could now see how this was to play out. He would be the fetch and carry boy, and anytime his father thought to make him seem foolish, he would. But he wouldn't cry foul in this instance, because if his father could win Andis over to his side, it would be all to the good. Mind healing was much easier to accomplish if the one needing the healing was in all ways comfortable with the one doing the healing.

"Now, Andis," Elrond said, "I will hold the bowl and you can spoon it for yourself. Will that be all right?"

Andis' eyes were large once more, and both of the Elves could tell he was again on high alert. But he nodded his head as he sat up with Elrohir's help. Elrond sat in the chair beside the bed, and held out the spoon to the child. Andis tried to reach for it with his left hand, but that was his injured arm, so he could not use it.

"You use your left hand for doing things, is this so?" Elrond asked him.

"Yes…" Andis said tentatively, but this time he actually directed his words to Elrond as he looked at him.

Elrohir wanted to rejoice at this tiny victory. It seemed that as long as he was in the room with Andis, the boy was fine with interacting with the Elf lord. _And why wouldn't this be so?_ He thought to himself. _My father is very good with children—he actually adores them. So why wouldn't Andis respond to that?_

"Will you allow me to spoon it up for you?" Elrond asked, his face as benign as he could make it.

Both Elves watched as Andis thought about this request. Again his eyes shifted from first Elrond to Elrohir and back again. Finally, the child lowered his gaze and said, "Can El-ro-heer do it?"

Elrond smiled, saying, "Of course he can. At least I think he is capable. Let us see if he can do it as well as I know that I could." As if he were imparting a confidence to Andis, he said quietly, "I hope he doesn't spill any on you."

Elrohir knew that that was his cue to make sure he did a sloppy job of feeding Andis. Never mind that he'd fed him before now and had always managed not to get the boy too messy. He took the bowl from his father, giving him a dour look, playing the part of the injured son well. After all, he'd had lots of practice, although in the past he wasn't always playing.

What he didn't plan for was Andis sneezing just as he got the full spoon to the boy's lips. Soup blew out in several directions, and it startled everyone for a few seconds. But then Elrond laughed, followed by Elrohir. Andis had obviously been a little afraid that he might be in trouble for making such a mess, but with everyone laughing, he finally followed suit, holding his good arm across his middle, when the laughter awakened the pain of the broken ribs.

Elrohir put the bowl down and wiped up as much of the soup as he could from the linen that covered Andis' legs. Elrond was hard pressed not to continue laughing, but he managed to keep it to just a big smile. Elrohir sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the bowl again.

As the spoon almost touched the boy's opened lips, Elrohir drew it back slightly. "You're not going to sneeze again, are you?" he asked.

Andis smiled, also still near laughter, and shook his head no.

"That's good," Elrohir said. He then lifted the spoon to Andis' mouth, but again, drew it back to just beyond his lips. "You are sure you aren't going to sneeze?"

A little chuckle escaped the boy, but again he shook his head in the negative.

Elrohir again went through the motions, getting the spoon almost inside the child's waiting and eager mouth, but again he drew it back. Before he could say anything, though, Andis reached for the spoon, but Elrohir wouldn't allow him to have it.

Elrond got up then and nudged Elrohir out of the way, taking his son's seat on the bed and the bowl of soup from Elrohir's hands. "Can you not see that this child is starving, Elrohir?" he asked, his tone a little more serious.

He spooned up a large piece of chicken and a few vegetables, and placed it into Andis' waiting mouth. Both of the Elves could see the gratefulness of the child, as he chewed what to him must have been the nectar of the Valar. Elrond kept spooning and Andis kept eating, without another sound of protest. Before long, all the soup was gone.

"I'll bet you feel better now, do you not?" Elrond asked.

Although it hadn't taken much time for the Elf lord to feed Andis, it must have been just long enough for the child to grow more accustomed to him. "That tasted good," Andis said, his eyes brighter than they had been since he'd opened them the first night Elrohir had tended to him.

"Are you full?" Elrond asked him, confidentially. "Because I have a surprise from Bellasiel—she is the Elf that manages the kitchen—our head cook! You will like her when you meet her! She's very nice and she always has sweets for young Elves—and young Humans." Andis again looked uncomfortable, but whether it was because Elrond had mentioned another Elf Andis had to meet or because he was too full for another bite, and did not want to anger the Elf lord, no one could guess.

"But you can meet her some other time," Elrond said, taking a chance that that might be the problem. "And if you are too full, I will just leave your slice of apple cake here under this cover." He'd turned to point at the sweet on the tray, but he was surprised to find Elrohir holding the uncovered plate and using a finger to sample the icing.

"Elrohir!" Elrond said in his sternest father's voice. "What gives you the nerve to try to steal young Andis' cake?"

The boy might have been scared again, by the Elf lord's outburst, but the expression on Elrohir's face had Andis trying not to laugh again. The Elf looked as guilty as a small child, caught snitching a tart from a windowsill as it cooled.

"I told you I was hungry, Father," Elrohir said, his voice almost a whine.

Andis grew solemn again, but his words took them all by surprise.

"Elrohir, you should eat something good first, so you grow up big and strong. Go see Bel… Bella.."

"Bellasiel?" Elrond prompted.

Andis looked at him and nodded. "Yes—her. Go see her and get some food." His little face grew even more solemn as he added, his voice quieter, "But I hope you bring it here t' eat it. I need you to be with me…"

Elrohir couldn't hide his elation. "I promise, Andis. I will bring a tray in here and eat it, right in this chair," he said, as he pointed to the seat he had vacated earlier. "That way I won't be bad and filch the cake that you deserve."

They could all see that Andis was trying to be brave. His eyes were large again, and they darted back and forth between the Elves.

Elrohir took a moment before he left and kissed Andis' forehead. "I will return before you can miss me."

"Oh go on, Elrohir," Elrond chided, as he sat in his chair beside Andis' bed, "he will be fine here with me." He quickly grabbed the boy's attention. "I think I will tell you a story. It is about a small Elf named Elrohir, and the time when he…"

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	31. Chapter 31

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

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"There, there, sweetheart," Jeren crooned to the whimpering baby she was rocking. It was in the wee hours of the morning, and Andis had again awoken, terrified and screaming. The gauzy curtain which was draped across the open portion of the veranda, wafted gently in the breeze, the moonlight throwing ghostly shadows deeper into the room. The filmy material grazed across Jeren's knees as she rocked Jessa back and forth. "All will be well. You will see. Your brother's nightmares will stop soon, and you will not be awakened so harshly then."

Elrohir had stayed with Andis in the Healing Halls for three full days and nights, but now, four weeks later, both children had beds in the room that Jeren and Elrohir shared. They had all fallen into a routine of sorts, one that was completely foreign to Jeren. She'd not strapped her weapons on since they'd ridden from the homestead. Now her days were filled with watching and caring for Jessa, when Elladan would allow her to, and trying to help Elrohir with Andis. Elrohir had had some experience in dealing with younglings, but other than Jeren's visits with her Aunt Elen's family, she had nothing really to guide her. All she knew was that she was growing fond of these children—Jessa especially, but Andis as well.

Every single night was hard for the boy. He would awaken at least once, terrified to the core by dreams of which he would not speak. Although Jessa generally slept through quite a bit of Andis' crying and screeching from the dreams that haunted his slumber, if she did happen to wake up, Jeren was there immediately, holding and rocking her until she fell back to sleep. Elrohir would gather Andis into his arms and walk with him, talking to him and patting his back until the boy's sobs lessened. And the nightmares seemed to be growing worse instead of better. It was taking longer and longer for Elrohir to soothe the frightened child, and tonight they'd already been up for more than an hour. Jeren could hear the two of them speaking softly, although she couldn't discern what they were saying. But Elrohir's tone was gentle and light, as if he were trying to get the child's mind onto more pleasant thoughts.

Jessa also had a bed in their room, and Jeren had Elrond to thank for that. At first Elladan had fought this arrangement, claiming that he had the better understanding of the little girl, and that he'd had much more experience in dealing with babies than Jeren did. Elladan's claim that Elrohir had his hands full with Andis was very true. He was 'matter-of-fact' about the whole affair, but it was plain to see that he loved the baby and wanted her with him. Elrond had put a stop to the dispute, opting to keep the children together for now, in hopes that a stronger bond might somehow be formed between them. And besides, Elladan was soon to be off, going to the settlement to check on Elen and to deliver the things that they'd found at the homestead, in hopes of locating any relatives of these orphans. Jeren wondered quite often what exactly he was waiting for. The longer the children were here, the more they all would grow attached to each other. There was no doubt about it—all three of them were falling in love with these children. And one might as well include Elrond in this group, for he had an obvious fondness of them, too.

As she rocked, Jeren thought about the first night they'd been at home, so many weeks ago. She'd held Jessa just like this, as teething had again made the child feverish and cranky. But before that, she'd been surprised by an unexpected gift…

_Elrond had taken Jeren to an upstairs attic, late that same afternoon, where there were things stored that might be of use in caring for the children that had just arrived in Rivendell. Most everything had been draped in sheets, and the Elf lord pulled the lengths of fabric from one or two different groups of furniture, until he found the one that he had been looking for—one that had two small children's beds in its midst. _

_As he pulled them aside, he said, "I will have someone come up and take these things downstairs. We've yet to decide where to house the children. Andis of course will be in the Healing Halls for at least a few days, but the baby will need a place to sleep now." As he folded the covering and placed it atop one of the beds, he continued, "I'm sure that Mariel will be happy to keep the baby with her in her rooms for now, but I want Jessa and Andis to be together as much as possible after I discharge the boy from the Healing Halls, so we will have to find a more permanent solution then."_

_Jeren smiled as she took hold of the Elf lord's hand, and said, "Please, Father; could she stay in our room with Elrohir and me? Andis will not allow himself to be separated from Elrohir, so he will be with us there as soon as you approve his release from the Healing Halls. If Jessa is already with us, there will be no disruption for her if we bring her into our room from the start, and I would truly relish taking care of her for the short amount of time she will probably be with us."_

_He'd gazed into her eyes for a long few seconds, his lips slowly curving up into a smile. "I think that could be arranged," he answered quietly. He then took her elbow and led her to a different place in the attic, and as he whisked another sheet of fabric from a group of covered furniture, Jeren gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. She fell to her knees, her fingers caressing the fine grain of the dark wooden arms of the rocking chair in front of her. This was the chair her father had made for her mother, before Jeren had been born. He'd carved the back piece with intricate detail; a pattern that Jeren had memorized during the long spaces of time that Anardil had been absent after her mother had died._

"_When did you do this?" she asked, near tears. "When did you have this brought here?" She looked up at him then, her adoring eyes lighting up his smile._

"_When we had your mother's grave moved here to Imladris, I had the Elves that I sent check the cabin for anything that might be of value to you in the future. This was among the few things that they brought back." He looked at her contritely, then admitted, "I said nothing of it at the time. You were barely healed, and I did not wish to open wounds so freshly closed." He then showed her the other pieces—the table and chairs that had been in the kitchen, the chest of drawers and the headboard from her parents' bed. But none of them meant as much to her as this rocking chair._

"_Could this be moved to my room too, Father?" she asked quietly, as she continued to run her hands over the dark, smooth wood._

"_Of course. It will be there by this evening."_

_She got up from her crouch and hugged him fiercely, and as he returned her embrace, he laughed, protesting, "You are squeezing the life from me, Young One."_

"_I cannot help it, my lord," she said. "I love you so much. Sometimes I want to pinch myself, to make sure I am not dreaming some wonderful dream, because my life seems so perfect now. I am fulfilling my lifelong dream of being a warrior—I've even been a ranger of the Dúnedain, as was my father before me. I'm here, living with the Elves, married to the most beautiful one of all, and it all seems so impossible. But no, it is real, and I am so very grateful to you. You are the reason my life has turned out the way that it has."_

"_I will take but a small bit of credit for any of it, Dear One," he said in return. "_You_ are why your life is to your liking. You have had some help, granted, but it was up to you to accept that help and make the most of it and any opportunities presented to you. So many others would not have. And you have worked hard to get what you have wanted and needed." His face had then lost its humor. "I am still uneasy about my son's marriage to you, though that has little to do with you and much to do with him. I fear for him every day, that he will not survive it." _

_She quickly looked down at her feet, knowing that tears were but a breath away. That had been one of the things that had caused her any hesitation, when she was deciding whether or not to bond with Elrohir—the fact that he might not survive in the end, and the effect that would have on his entire family._

_Her liquid eyes finally found his, and Elrond lifted her chin, and said, "When I do not allow myself to wallow in gloom, I am overjoyed at having you as a true member of our family. I've always loved you."_

_She'd hugged him again, but not nearly as fiercely as before. "I love you, too, Father," she said._

And tonight she sat, in the same rocking chair in which her mother had held and cuddled her, holding a child who was quickly becoming a part of her life. Again she wished Elladan would go back to the settlement, take the locket and portraits they'd had copied, and ask everyone there if they had any idea who these people were, or if they had any relatives near. Yes, she wished it many times, but then in the same breath, she'd wish he would not. She was trying to deny it to herself, but she knew in her soul that parting from these children was already going to be difficult. She did not want to get so close to them—and them to her—that having relatives claim them would be heart wrenching for them all.

Jeren had not forgotten about her duty to Imladris as a scout, but with Elrohir's time taken up completely by Andis, another partner would have needed to be assigned to her, to take Elrohir's place, if she were to continue with the duty she'd signed on for. They'd had a discussion with Glorfindel one evening, just before retiring for the night, asking him to give them leave, so that they could take care of these children, at least until Andis was not so obsessed on Elrohir's being with him night and day. The older Elf chafed at the idea; he'd never had a situation like this crop up in all his years as Arms Master, and he didn't ever give deference to anyone because of who they were. Yet he saw that it wasn't in their interest that they were asking this favor, it was in the children's interest. There had been no Elflings in Imladris since Arwen had been born, and before then, no Elf became a soldier in the Imladris force if he were a parent. No, every aspiring warrior found something else to do until after his children came of age.

At first Glorfindel argued that Elrohir was not even needed; it was Jeren who truly wanted to be the scout, and by taking this extra time, she was missing out on important training she could be getting from someone more experienced. But Elrohir was not willing to concede his place by Jeren's side. He had reluctantly agreed to her pulling her share of the duty while with him; he had not yet advanced to even thinking about having her out in the wild without him at all. Glorfindel heard the arguments and didn't agree, but in the end he grudgingly gave them whatever time they would need.

And truth be told, Jeren had been keeping a secret, and keeping it so well that even she had not been aware of it! Not until she and Elrohir had spoken to Glorfindel had she realized that the thought of leaving the children to go scouting left her feeling sad and empty. She was growing to have a great fondness for baby Jessa, but she was also getting closer to Andis. He was harder, because he stuck so close to Elrohir, but he reminded her in ways of Elen's little Charlie. He was a handsome lad, just as Elen's smallest son was, but if she were truthful, she would have to admit that he also reminded her of herself. He'd just lost his father, the parent he was closest to, just as she had lost her mother at thirteen. Yes, the circumstances were vastly different, and Andis surely suffered more emotional trauma than she had, but the point was that they had both been left by the person they'd loved the most. And she couldn't help but admire a child, who had been through so much and had such a steadfast heart. She hoped the future would be better for him than the past had proved to be.

The future… She wondered just what that would entail. Would Elladan find relatives of the children at the settlement, or someone who knew who they were? Again she felt that pang in her heart, whenever she thought about not having the children with her anymore. And she could hardly bear thinking about someone else claiming them—

It had only been a month, but the children seemed to have made a place in her life—and she didn't want to give that up, she now realized.

Elrohir startled her when he crouched beside her chair, placing his hand on her shoulder. "He's asleep again. Do you think Jessa will settle in her bed now?"

The baby was quiet, her breath coming in soft puffs against Jeren's neck. Jeren nodded to Elrohir and rose from the chair, the Elf rising with her. They both went to the little bed that the baby had been sleeping in so peacefully before, and Jeren laid her down, pulling a soft blanket over her little body. Elrohir smoothed Jessa's hair away from her face, bending and placing a kiss on her head, and then they both turned and went back to their bed.

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Elrohir was not sure what he had walked into. He knew for a fact that he was in his father's study, but that was where any familiarity left him. The scene that he'd happened upon was very unusual, to say the least. His Elf lord father was on his knees, his elbows and face near the floor, which left his rear end up in the air, his robes pooling around his body. Although it was hard, Elrohir resisted the temptation to nudge his father's backside with his boot as he drew nearer.

Andis moved slightly, since he'd been entirely hidden from sight by the Elven lord, and Elrohir then spotted him, along with the game of 'Ringers' the two of them were obviously playing on the rug. At least that was the only name that Elrohir had ever heard the game called. Elrond must have obtained a long piece of string from somewhere, which he had fashioned into a circle on the floor between the sofa and chairs grouped near the fireplace.

Elrohir nodded to himself as he recognized the game—twelve small but perfectly round spheres of polished rock in two different colors, one set of six that were black, and the other set white. There was also one red stone that was 'the shooter'. This was a game that he and Elladan had played with as children, in this very same room, millennia ago. Ordinarily it was played outside, and a circle drawn in the dirt, but if it was rainy, and they had no lessons to attend to, they could play inside. Their father would be working at his desk, and their mother would have her sewing or a book she was reading, and as long as they were quiet, the twins were welcome to play beneath their parents' loving gaze.

Since they'd brought the children to Imladris, Andis had, in some ways, come great distances from the clinging child he had been when he'd arrived. In fact, Elrohir's trip to Elrond's study this morning was prompted by the Elf wondering just where Andis had gone. It seemed as if Elrond had been proved right, and Andis had finally grown bored of tagging along after Elrohir, as the Elf went about the duties that were his when he was at home. And Elrohir had been correct in where he ultimately looked for the child. Elrond had insinuated himself into Andis' heart, seamlessly and without any trouble at all, just as Elrohir had known he would do.

"So here you are, Andis," Elrohir said as he approached the two players. "One minute you were sitting beside my desk and the next you were gone. I was wondering where you had disappeared to."

Andis looked up, his eyes large at having been discovered someplace besides where he was supposed to be by the one he loved most. This was the first time he'd adventured out by himself. "I'm sorry, El-ro-heer," he said solemnly.

"Ah, no need for such a gloomy face, Andis. I knew I would find you somewhere in the house." Elrohir hoped that Andis might make the connection he was trying to subtly point out; that even though Elrohir might not be directly at Andis' side, there really wasn't anywhere he could go that Andis would not be able to find him.

That was still a problem with the boy. While Andis would now spend portions of time with Elrond, and this might be construed as progress, that would not be a completely correct assumption, because the boy was growing more dependent on Elrohir every day. Elrohir hoped that perhaps today might be a turning point in this, since Andis had ventured out on his own initiative. One of the more bizarre aspects of the boy's behavior was that he was apt to break into a panic if he happened to look around and Elrohir wasn't next to him, even if it had been Andis who had moved away from the Elf. It had gotten so that if Andis realized Elrohir was gone, he would fly into hysterics until they were reunited. Elrohir had learned not to sneak away; it always ended badly, with Andis nearly fainting in fear and Elrohir feeling guilty about it.

"We were just playing a game of 'Ringers', Elrohir," Elrond said. "Why do you not join us? You can be the scorekeeper."

"I think not, Father," Elrohir said, a small smile on his lips. "Jeren asked that I find her and Jessa after I was finished with the correspondence to Thranduil. I'm sure she has Jessa out on the lawn somewhere, soaking in some sunshine." Looking back to Andis, Elrohir asked, "Would you like to stay here and play, or do you want to come with me, as I search for Jeren and your sister?"

Andis looked at the game on the floor with unmasked longing. The boy's eagerness to play was easy to read on his face. But as the two Elves looked on, the child's expression turned resigned, as if he'd made up his mind about something. He got up from his knees and took Elrohir's hand. "Yes, I'll come with you. After all, you stick by me when I have to do things I don't wanna do."

Elrohir was torn in his reaction to this. On one hand, he was saddened that it looked as though nothing had changed in Andis' basic attitude—the child just could not stand being separated from him. But he had to stifle a chuckle at the words the boy had chosen. Andis was a typical brother dealing with a sister: he had claimed all along, with his actions if not his words, that anything having to do with Jessa was tedious and not worth doing, and he could not fathom why anyone would purposely go looking for her. It was obvious that he felt sorry for Elrohir having to go seek his sister.

Elrond got himself up from the floor, dusting at his robes as he stood. "We can finish this later, Andis, when you are tired of the boring things that Elrohir will be doing. All right?" The Elf lord gave the boy a wink.

"All right." Andis smiled then, saying, "Don't forget the score, 'cause I was winning."

Looking at the child with incredulity, Elrohir exclaimed, "You were winning, even with having to use the wrong hand to shoot with?" At Andis' wide smile and vigorous nod, Elrohir's expression changed to one of admiration. "That's very impressive."

"He was beating me, yes, but the game is young," Elrond said arrogantly to his son. He then looked directly at Andis and smiled as he said, "I still have a chance to win, you know."

Andis returned the Elf lord's smile with one of his own; he gave Elrond a challenging stare, his face more like a boy of a much older age. "Maybe you do. Maybe you don't."

Elrohir laughed at his father's raised brows, but what he'd heard in this last exchange, were words that were probably some that the child's father had spoken to him at one time or another. But inside the Elf was rejoicing. That Andis felt comfortable enough with Elrond to tease him, even a small amount, was a blessing. It would soon be time for them to start the mind healing sessions, and it was essential that Andis trust Elrond. It now appeared as if he was well on his way to doing so.

"Elrohir," Elrond said, all levity gone from his face. "I would speak to you later. Perhaps after evening meal, when the children are abed."

The anxious look that Andis gave to both of the Elves, first Elrohir and then Elrond, let them know exactly what he thought of their plan.

"Worry not, child," Elrond said. "You will be safely in your bed, with Jeren to watch over you. You could not be in better hands. She is a warrior, you know."

Andis looked at the Elf lord skeptically, but obediently went with Elrohir as he started from the room. Elrohir's expression, as he glanced at his father, spoke of concern for their little charge, but he merely nodded as he closed the door.

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"Now Andis," Elrohir started, as he tucked the boy into the little bed, "there is no need to fret. I am leaving Jeren here with you for company, and if you want, she will tell you a story. She has many very interesting stories that she might tell."

Jeren stood beside Jessa's bed listening to this conversation between her husband and Andis. She'd just put the baby down for the night and was covering her with a light blanket.

"You sure you will be right back?" Andis asked, in that small voice that always preceded an attack of hysterics, whenever Elrohir even thought about leaving him for any amount of time.

"Yes," Elrohir said, "but I think you are probably pretty tired, are you not? We played a great deal this afternoon, and it wouldn't surprise me if you were sound asleep by the time I returned." He glanced at the child's crumpling face and added, "even though I will only be gone for a very short while."

Andis oozed anxiety, so his expression was completely doubtful, as it always was whenever Elrohir voiced his need to be someplace where Andis could not go. Elrohir decided to take a different approach this time, one he'd not used before now. Perhaps some questions and answers could shed light on Andis' deepest feelings.

"What are you afraid of, Andis?" he asked. "I always return to you, do I not?"

The child nodded, looking away, but didn't say anything at all.

Elrohir knelt beside the bed, and tried again. "What is it, Andis? What do you fear?"

Andis still did not look at him, and he waited so long to answer that Elrohir thought he might not. But finally, in the small voice that was now trembling, too, he admitted, "I do not know. But I am afraid."

That was the same response Andis gave Elrohir when he was awakened by the nightmares that had been plaguing him every night since the Orc attack at the homestead. The Elf would hold him, trying to comfort him, and ask the boy what his dream had been about. The child always answered in the same way—"I do not remember, but it was horrible and I was afraid." All Elrohir could do then was hold him close until his crying ceased and his trembling eased.

"I have not told you this before, because you are so young, but I think you should know…" Elrohir started, as if he were going to impart some great secret to the child, a secret so profound that not many people knew about it. "My father, the Lord Elrond, is a powerful Elf, and he holds dominion over Rivendell. Nothing nor no one enters the borders of his land without his knowledge or consent. So you have nothing to fear."

"Nothing?" Andis asked, his wary eyes showing his doubt.

"Nothing," Elrohir echoed. "But even still, I am going to ask Jeren to retrieve her long knife, and sit here and guard you and Jessa while I am gone. She is a mighty warrior, just as I am, and she will let nothing evil or strange past her. She will guard you and your sister with her very life."

He finally could see that he had Andis' attention now, but he doubted it would last past his departure; it never did.

"She has a big knife?" Andis asked, as if he couldn't believe that a woman would be so armed.

As Jeren stood there taking in this scene, she was puzzled, because she knew that Andis must have noticed the sword she had strapped to her side as they rode back from the homestead. _Why would my possessing a mere knife enthrall him so much?_

"She certainly does," Elrohir said, and Jeren, as she listened to her husband, could see the pride written on Elrohir's face. "And she will get it from the wardrobe as soon as I am gone."

Andis sat up in his bed, saying, "Well hurry and leave, El-ro-heer, so that you can come back sooner, and I can be awake and I can tell you about Jeren's big knife."

Elrohir stood and glanced at Jeren, who looked as if she were trying to hold back laughter. "All right, Andis. I am leaving now, but I will return soon—before you can even miss me."

But Andis' eyes were glued to Jeren, as she reached inside the wardrobe and took her long knife down from a top shelf. As Elrohir closed the door behind him, she walked toward Andis' bed and sat on it near him, loosening her knife in its sheath. It was a beautiful weapon, of Elvish make, one that Anardil had given to her on her fourteenth birthday. She'd always treasured it for that reason alone, but it was exceptionally made, with delicate etching upon the blade. The light in Andis' eyes showed that he admired its quality.

"Could I touch it?" he asked, amazed.

Jeren was surprised that he'd so completely forgotten Elrohir this time, and that his attention was so focused on her long knife, but she nodded, adding, "You may touch the hilt, up here, because the blade is entirely too sharp for anyone to touch." At first Andis placed his fingers tentatively upon the knife's handle, but he soon grew bolder, and his small hand closed around the hilt as far as his fingers would stretch.

She watched the child, and could not help the shiver that ran down her spine as she saw his small hand take possession of the knife. She had a momentary pause, but then whatever had caused her hesitation left her just as quickly. Andis could have lifted the weapon without any trouble, but he didn't try, and Jeren would not have relinquished her hold on it in any case.

"Do you have stories about your knife?" Andis asked, as he placed his hand in his lap.

"I just happen to have a few," she said, pleased that she still had his attention, especially with Elrohir gone from the room. She slid her long knife more fully into its sheath, and then helped him lie down again. She then sat closer to him, noting the clean smell of the little boy—part soap from his bath, part freshly laundered sheets, and he even seemed to have the aroma of the berry tarts they'd had after supper clinging to his hair.

"When I was a girl, my father taught me how to use weapons," she began.

"My Papa did, too!" Andis said excitedly. He startled Jeren when he suddenly threw off his covers and ran to a small chest of drawers against one wall, where Jeren and Elrohir had stowed the children's clothes. He dropped to his knees and pulled open the bottom drawer with his good hand. He reached inside and lifted out the box that he and Elrohir had fetched from the barn before they'd left the homestead for Imladris. He put the box onto the rug in front of the chest and removed the lid, and after only a few seconds, he withdrew the small wooden sword from within the box. "Here's _my_ sword," he said proudly, brandishing the weapon that was at the most eight inches long.

Jeren smiled and got up from the bed, placing her long knife back onto the top shelf of the wardrobe before she knelt beside Andis. "May I?" she asked, as she reached for his blade. He nodded and held the toy sword out to her.

She turned the sword over in her hands and found a brief inscription burned into the underside of the wooden blade. _"For Andis from Papa," _it read_._ The brand was in small, elegant script, which told Jeren of the tremendous patience that Andis' father must have possessed, to have taken the time to inscribe the sword in this way. She'd tried branding something before, and had stopped with initials. It was entirely more difficult than it looked.

She glanced at the boy. "Was this a Yule gift—or mayhap a birthday present?" she asked quietly, somewhat afraid to press Andis with the memory of his father, not knowing how the boy might react.

But Andis did not seem upset in the least; he was actually eager to talk of his father.

"My papa gave it to me last Yule. He was a warrior, too, like my Uncle Timm, but he got hurt in a battle long ago and can't be a warrior anymore."

"Uncle Timm?" Jeren asked quickly. "Is that the man in the portrait we found?"

When they'd left the homestead, Elrohir had taken the portrait that Andis had found of his parents and put it in one of the packs that they'd tied to Bessie. The boy had been very possessive of it for the day that he had it, but had relinquished it easily that night when Elrohir asked for it, and Andis had not brought it up since. They'd shown him the other portrait, of the single man, while he was holding onto the picture of his parents, but he wouldn't speak to them of it. At the time it seemed as if he were in some sort of trance—not conscious of them being there, much less of their inquiries. They hadn't pressed, and Jeren had not been sure until now that Andis had even looked at the portrait of his uncle. None of them had asked Andis any more of these questions, not wanting to rattle the precious hold he might have on his sanity by bringing up the death of his parents. All was not well with the child, that was obvious, and until Elrond could work his mind healing on the boy, it had been decided to not speak of his family unless he brought them up first.

"Yes, that's him," Andis said, as he took his wooden sword from Jeren again, lovingly turning it over and over in his hands.

"Do you know where your Uncle Timm lives?" she asked eagerly.

"No," Andis said. "Papa doesn't like to talk about him. My Gran tries to talk about him, but Papa don't allow it."

Jeren frowned, puzzled by this. There must have been some family enmity in the past. Well, whatever had torn the brothers apart surely wouldn't matter after all this time, given the circumstances these children were in.

"We should get you back into bed," Jeren said. She tried to take the sword from Andis, so that she could return it to the box he'd taken it from, but Andis would not let it go.

"Could I have my sword in my bed?" Andis asked, and Jeren knew that she'd better allow it, or else the boy might remember that Elrohir was gone. It was the strangest thing—Andis could be quite content, sometimes it was even he who had left Elrohir in a given place, but suddenly the child would realize the Elf was gone and commence his hysterics, until Elrohir was found and the two were reunited, even if the distance was merely from across a room.

"I don't see what that can hurt," Jeren said, as she led him to the bed, and then tucked him in. She laid the sword beside the boy, within easy reach.

"Could you tell me the rest of the story, 'bout when your papa taught you how to fight with the big knife?" he asked her, and a huge yawn followed his question.

"Of course I can," Jeren said. She settled herself next to Andis again, getting comfortable. "Back when I was a little bit older than you are now…"

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

When Elrohir entered his father's study, he was surprised to find Elladan already there. His twin and their father were standing behind the Elf lord's desk, in front of the darkened window, and they were already engaged in a somewhat animated discussion when he walked in.

"I will go, Father," Elladan insisted. "I just don't feel the urgency that you do."

"I thought you were afraid that Elen might need your attention, son," Elrond said reasonably.

"Lord Marach is a fine healer," Elladan replied, "very capable in most matters."

"Yet you still worry for Elen. I see it in your face. I have a feeling that, while I know Lord Marach is a fine healer, he will not be of much help if Elen is again with child and has put her health in peril by getting that way. Even though she is basically hale, we both know Elen's history. She was very lucky with Charlie's birth, but another baby—and so soon?" Elrond let his statement hang in the air between them, gladdened when he saw Elladan's face soften.

The younger Elf's expression had relaxed at first, but a new determination seemed to suddenly take hold of him. "I don't even know for sure if Elen is with child, Father. It might not be another baby at all that is causing her to seem so tired. She just might need some strengthening tonics, to build up her blood, and Lord Marach is fully capable of administering those."

"I know you would stay here to see to Jessa," Elrond said quietly, apparently trying a different tactic on his son, one that was more direct and truthful. "But she is being well cared for. And you know she isn't ours to keep." Anyone observing the Elven lord would know that he had much sympathy for his son. "The sooner we find out who she belongs with, the better it will be for us all—including her."

"That _isn't_ what is holding me here—" Elladan started.

"Isn't it?" Elrond insisted. "I think if you will examine your heart, you will find that it is."

Elladan turned away from his father and walked toward Elrohir, nodding slightly to acknowledge his brother's presence, but he didn't try to enlist his twin's aid in his cause.

"Father? You wanted to see me?" Elrohir said, hoping to break the tension that had suddenly filled the room.

"Yes," Elrond replied, even though his eyes followed the son he had been speaking to previously. After a few moments, he turned his attention to Elrohir. "I believe it is time that we begin with Andis' mind healing sessions. I will remove the splint and the sling from his arm tomorrow morning. You told me that the bone was merely cracked, and in a child of his age, with care and good feeding, four weeks of having it immobilized should be plenty of healing time. It still needs to strengthen, but most importantly, I think the pain should be gone. That is why I wanted to wait this long, so that he might heal better physically before I began delving into his mind. Physical pain is a distraction that someone who needs mind healing would be better without."

The relief on Elrohir's face was evident to everyone in the room. "I believe that is a very good idea, Father," he said. "He's a good little boy, and I love having him with me, but I know his dependence on me isn't a healthy thing."

"No it is not," Elrond agreed. "It is settled then. Tomorrow morning, after a trip to the Healing Halls, we will commence the mind healing. You know the room…"

"Yes, I remember."

Elrond then turned to Elladan, who hadn't moved to leave the study, although he seemed to be lost in thoughts of his own and not listening to the conversation the Elf lord had been having with Elrohir. "Now help me convince Elladan of where his duty truly lies."

His son responded to hearing his name, looking first at his father, and then at his twin. Dragging his gaze back to Elrond he said, "There is no need to pull Elrohir into this. Coercion doesn't become you," he said, causing a brow to arch on his father's face. "I will go when I am ready and not before."

"I can't believe that you really need convincing," Elrohir said to his brother in disbelief.

"I just don't see the urgency," Elladan said plainly. "The chances of the children's relatives being at the settlement are slim. I've never seen anyone there who resembles the people in the portraits we have, and if they are not there, then it will take months to search the outlying areas. A few more weeks before we begin the search will do no harm."

"But what if there _are_ relatives of these children at the settlement, or someone there who knows of their people? We need to find that out now instead of later." Elrohir didn't often get angry with his twin; he tended to sympathize with him. But this time, he couldn't keep the anger out of his voice. Either Elladan wasn't thinking this through, or he was denying his feelings to himself. "I don't think I'm alone in saying that I am growing very fond of both Andis and Jessa. Parting with them now would be difficult. I cannot imagine keeping them and loving them for much longer, and then having to stand back months from now, when our feelings have grown stronger, and allow someone to take them. Please, Elladan. Go for me if not for them."

"If you want it done so badly, then go yourself!" Elladan said, his frown formidable. He had exactly the same brow line as their father, and when those brows were drawn together the effect could be daunting.

But Elrohir was not cowed.

"I would if I could!" he shouted, his frustration mounting. "But what would we do about Andis? You know that he clings to me. He looks at me as if I am the line someone has thrown to him as he fights to keep from drowning in a river of fear!" Elrohir stopped abruptly, trying to get control of his anger. He knew that shouting at Elladan was as futile as would be using a teaspoon to stir the ocean. In a more even voice he continued, "He fights it, Elladan, which is more than I can say for you at the moment. You do not want to give Jessa up; that is why you are dragging your feet. If you won't think of me or anyone else, at least think of her!

"She becomes more attached to us with each passing day, just as we are to her. How do you think she will feel, when the people she has grown used to are suddenly not there anymore? You know how fast babies develop. It seemed fairly easy—her transition from her mother to us—but she will be that much older if we wait months to find her kin. That sort of change will distress her much more once she is older than it will now."

Elladan retreated back to the window, looking out into into a void that seemed as if it was as dark as his heart. Elrohir hated the raw pain that he saw on his brother's face, but was glad he'd gotten through to him at last.

After several minutes had passed, Elladan said softly, "I am sorry. I've been selfish." After he'd spoken he turned back toward the room, his attitude much more subdued than it had been just seconds before. "I've been denying my feelings, to myself and to everyone else. And I've not been taking anyone else's feelings into consideration at all. I want to believe that there will be no relations of theirs that we can find. I don't want to give them up. I'm already lost, as far as my loving Jessa is concerned. I was lost the first time I held her."

"I know, Brother," Elrohir said gently. "I've known that all along. And I also know that Jeren feels exactly the same way about the baby, although we've not discussed it. I truly fear that discussion, if the truth be known."

"And that is all the more reason for haste," Elrond said. "The more you grow to love the children, the harder it will be when you _must_ give them up." He looked intently at each of his sons, but said nothing else.

Elrohir knew that their father was gifted with foresight, although the Elf lord hardly ever spoke of future events to any of his family. He rarely held his 'visions' as absolutes, knowing that the future is a dynamic thing, and events are subject to change with every minute of the day, with every encounter one had with untold people. Everyone had choices, and depending on their sway from minute to minute, the future could change in a heartbeat. But the way his father had stared at the two of them, after he'd all but told them that they would have to let the children go, sent shivers down the younger Elf's spine.

"Are the children's people at the settlement, Father?" Elladan asked intently, looking as if he feared what the older Elf might say. Elrohir could tell that Elladan's thoughts were running along the same lines as his own.

But Elrond didn't voice an answer; he merely turned away.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Elrohir let himself into his bedroom silently, hoping that Andis was asleep, but not really expecting it. He'd been encouraged when he'd not heard the child weeping uncontrollably as he'd stepped into the outer room. But as he slowly opened the door wider, he could see that both children were in their beds asleep, and Jeren was on the veranda, already dressed for bed and sitting in one of the chairs at the table.

He made his way outside and leaned down to kiss her briefly, before pulling out a chair to sit beside her. He'd not startled her because she'd learned to face the room when on the veranda, just for the very purpose of not being sneaked up on by silent Elven feet. She looked at him expectantly, knowing he'd been to see his father and wondering just what the meeting had entailed.

"Father wants to begin Andis' mind healing tomorrow morning," Elrohir said.

Jeren heaved a sigh of relief. "That's good, Elrohir. He's such a sweet child, and I hate to see him tormented with nightmares, as well as being frightened to death when you are not within his reach."

"How was he this evening?" Elrohir asked, glancing back inside at the peacefully sleeping child. "I didn't hear him crying as I let myself out of the sitting room earlier."

"And he never did cry tonight," she said, smiling. But then her smile faded into a puzzled frown. "He was so captivated with my long knife, that he barely acknowledged your leaving. I would have thought that mayhap a sword could have kept his attention, but the mere mention of my knife seemed to set something off in him. I wonder what?" She seemed to puzzle over that for a moment, but then she was reminded of something she needed to tell him. "I learned that the portrait of the single man we found at the homestead is the children's Uncle Timm. From what little Andis knew of him, it seems as if Timm and Anders did not get along for some reason. Anders forbid anyone to ever speak of Timm in their home."

It almost seemed as if Elrohir hadn't heard her comment, when he blurted, "You asked him about his family?" There was just the slightest ring of hostility in his voice.

She gave him a look that told him that she had more sense than he was suggesting. "Only _after_ he began talking about his father."

"He spoke of his father?" Elrohir asked, somewhat between excitement and fear. Since they'd left the homestead, Andis had mentioned neither of his parents. It was almost as if he had forgotten he'd ever had any parents at all. Elrohir wasn't sure if Andis bringing his father up now was good news or bad. "What did he say?"

Jeren explained about Andis jumping up and retrieving his toy sword, after she had started her story about her long knife. "I'd never examined it—it is inscribed."

"Yes, it is. His father had some skill and patience, making that little sword, and then burning the inscription into the wood. The script is very small and precise."

"I asked Andis if it had been a gift, since it gave all appearances of being one. And he told me that he'd gotten it last Yule from his father. That was when he volunteered the information that his father had been a warrior, but had been wounded long ago and couldn't be one anymore. He also said that his Uncle Timm was a warrior as well. I asked Andis if he knew where his uncle lived, but he said that he did not."

"Timm…" Elrohir said, as if trying to recall a memory he might have tucked away somewhere in his mind. "No, I do not remember a ranger by that name at the settlement." And then it seemed as if a spark lit his eyes momentarily. "But... Think about this, Jeren—what if both Anders and Timm were rangers that lived as your father and mother used to do? A whole patrol would take their families along with them, camping in tents, and only went to the settlement twice a year to replenish their supplies. It is much too dangerous to do that now, but ten or fifteen years ago, that tradition was still held. If Anders was hurt in a battle back at that time and had to retire, Timm could have continued being a ranger and might be based at the settlement. He could have a family there right now. It makes me wonder if perhaps we may have seen him there before, but did not even know it. That could be why I do not recall the name—he was seldom there, and Elladan and I could have been out on patrol when his unit returned."

"That is a possibility…" Jeren said sullenly, as if the idea filled her with dread. "I want what is best for these younglings, Elrohir, but a part of me doesn't want Timm to be there. I don't want to let them go. It's like they're _our _responsibility, and no one else's." She looked at him, her eyes pleading. "It would be very hard to part with them."

"I think Elladan will leave for the settlement soon," Elrohir said, still dreading this conversation with Jeren, but knowing that they needed to talk about it. "He and Father were 'discussing' it when I got to the study. My brother feels as you do about the children."

"And how do you feel, Elrohir?"

He got up from his chair and walked further into the darkness, taking his time to figure out exactly what he wanted to say. He turned around, leaning against the iron rails, and said, "I have been trying to hold myself away from these children from the very beginning. I saw how awestruck Elladan was the first time he laid eyes on Jessa, and I knew that one of us would have to stay neutral. And you, Jeren," he said. He paused for a moment as he looked at her face. "You would have them both stay forever if you could. The way you feel is plain to see." He'd made it a statement of fact, not wanting her to think he faulted her for her feelings at all.

Jeren rose then, too, and walked toward her husband, taking him into her arms, her heart stirring when his arms came around her. She laid her head on his shoulder for a moment, but then leaned back, until she could look into his eyes. "I am trying very hard to stay detached, Elrohir, but that is getting more challenging every day. Having these children here, under our care, is making me question things about myself that I never doubted." She stopped for a moment, and then her brows rose as she said, "But that doesn't answer my question, Elrohir. How do _you_ feel?"

"As I said, I'm trying to keep my heart out of it. I know the children are not ours, and therefore, growing too close to them will result in heartache. I've had this happen many times in my life—every time a potential Dúnedain chieftain was brought here to foster with us, I'd try to keep my distance. Sometimes I was successful and sometimes not. For some reason it was different with Estel from the beginning. I could not love him more were he my true brother. Losing him will be… I dare not think of it now." Elrohir pulled Jeren closer. With their foreheads touching, he finished, "But there were never any little girls among the children brought here, and Jessa wins hearts with her smiles alone." He pulled back to gaze into his wife's face. "And now I look into Andis' troubled eyes and I find my heart reaching for his. I try to fight it, but I'm losing the battle."

Jeren sighed deeply, laying her head against her husband's shoulder, and it was a long while before she spoke again. "Nothing much scares me anymore, Elrohir, but this does. I don't want it to, but it does."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**A/N1: I seem to sing the same song each time now, but…. Sorry for the delay with getting this chapter out. **

**Special thanks to all the reviewers: Glory Bee, faye50free, Longstrider, Sarafina85, yuemoon, heavenslilagl420, Southern Pride, American Pride, Duck, Nell, dr3, Shycoyotegirl, Song in the Woods, Livia09, Sadie Sil, Brandibuckeye, Lady Anne, Teacalm, and Elfinabottle.**

**A/N2: I have no idea how to play marbles, which is what the game 'ringers' was fashioned after. I don't plan on elaborating on the rules to the game in this chapter, so if it won't work with the number of marbles I have described, just pretend that it does. Or write to me with the correct numbers of marbles needed and I'll correct this chapter. **


	32. Chapter 32

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Elenmere…" Elladan said, his voice dripping reproach. He wore what looked to be a genuine expression of hurt. "You trample my feelings when you avoid me this way."

Elladan had arrived at the settlement late yesterday afternoon, only a day after Elrohir had brought him to task for not doing what was necessary to find the children's relatives—if they could be found. As soon as he'd stabled his horse, he'd begun looking for Elen, first going to her cabin, but not finding her there. That was unusual to say the least, since the hour was late to not find her cooking a meal for her family at home. But the passerby that he'd asked had told him that Elen was among those whose turn it was to cook in the Dining Hall for the rangers, so Elladan had gone there to find her. But he saw her slip from the back door as soon as he'd arrived, which more than solidified the idea that she was indeed avoiding him. He'd then given up the search for the night and had sat with one of the patrols to catch up on the local news and to have his evening meal with them.

At hearing the censure in the Elf's words, Elen's cornered expression drained from her face and was quickly replaced by remorse. "I'm sorry…" she said sincerely, but her voice trailed away as she began to realize, by the look Elladan was giving her, that he'd been teasing her. His lips slowly curved up into an impish grin, as hers quivered between a smile and a frown.

Pretending affront, Elen bustled past him several steps, so that she could look toward the shore of the river, where little Charlie was playing in the mud a short distance away. "Stay right there, Charlie," she called, and the child looked up.

"El-en…" Elladan's voice had a slight lilt to it, as he turned and watched her descend the bank to check on her son more closely.

"I will, Mama!" Charlie called back, before he resumed digging a stick into the clumpy mud. The stick gave way, and he fell on his backside, lying all the way down and giggling as he wallowed in the mucky goo.

It was an early fall day, one of those days that are extremely hot, in preparation for the weather to turn colder with an approaching storm, yet no inclement weather had yet made its presence known. Elen had felt safe that Charlie wouldn't catch a chill being in the water this morning, for yesterday she'd heard Old Agatha warn of today's torrid heat. Old Agatha must have been at least eighty years old, and her bones always foretold of these weather events. They would ache fiercely with each approaching storm, and she could read the various pains in her joints as if the information were printed on a page. She would complain loudly and long to whoever might happen by her front porch, where she sat and watched the activity of the settlement almost every day. She was so accurate that people would schedule outdoor events depending on when she said it might rain, and those that farmed would plant or harvest by her predictions of frost.

"What is it, Elladan?" she asked him tersely, glancing at him momentarily and then looking back toward her son.

"You know what it is," he said gently. "You're with child again."

She frowned and huffed out a breath. "How do you do that?" she asked loudly. She brushed her hand against her rounding abdomen. "It isn't very obvious yet. No one but my closest friends have even guessed it."

He wasn't going to tell her that Humans had scents and hers changed markedly, though not in a bad way, whenever she was with child, so he wisely didn't elaborate. "Never mind how I know."

She looked at him for several seconds, obviously deciding that she saw disapproval in his eyes, and then climbed back up the bank, having first made sure that Charlie was safe. As soon as she reached the Elf, she said angrily, her voice lowered a notch so that no one could possibly overhear, "Well I will not apologize for loving my husband! I won't! And each precious child he gives me, I love more than I can say!"

Elladan raised his hands slightly, as if to ward off her snarling. "And I would never expect an apology for decisions as personal as that." He reached out to her and pulled her into an embrace, which she willingly returned. But he soon leaned back to look into her eyes. "It's just that others—like me—love you, too, and each time you give birth there is danger for you. I cannot help but worry, Elen. We almost lost you once."

She sighed as she relaxed. "I'm sorry, Elladan. I know there's risk with each baby, but it's a risk I'm willing to take."

He wanted badly to tell her that she might be willing to risk it, but that if the worst should happen, she would be leaving dear ones behind who had no say in the matter. Then her children would grow up without their mother, just as Andis and Jessa would have to do. But since the damage was already done, Elladan thought that at this point in their conversation, scaring her or making her feel miserable about it would accomplish nothing positive.

"And how have you been feeling?" he asked her. "Has anything out of the ordinary happened that I should know about?"

"I'm fine! Fit as a fiddle," she replied hastily, her smile patently false.

He looked as her sideways, his brows raised.

"I am a little tired, but that's not out of the ordinary. That is a very common thing, you know."

"Yes, I know," he replied. "But the tone of your skin is nearly ashen. Your cheeks have always been rosy, but Elen, the roses have faded."

Elen looked down, refusing to say any more.

He lifted her chin. "I can learn the information I seek. All I must do is ask James. He will tell me, but you know how it hurts him; he then feels as if he has betrayed you. But unlike you, he wants to see to your health above all, even at the cost of your wrath."

"All right!" she said more intensely than she'd planned to. "I am extremely tired, Elladan. Is that what you wanted to hear? I have fainted countless times and Jamesica must sometimes help me with the simplest of chores. But today has been a very good day. At least it was until…" She pursed her lips and again refused to continue.

"…until I came along to badger you?" he finished for her. He smiled. "I appreciate your telling me. Now the question is, 'what are we going to do about this'?"

She looked at him with a puzzled frown. "What is there to do, but endure?"

"Oh there are things to do, but you will not like them," he admitted. "They will be a test of your strength and your character—and the love you _say_ you have for your family."

Indignant, Elen countered, "How can you even hint that I do not love my family to the fullest, Elladan? I've never known you to be cruel!" She turned her back on him, but he would have none of that, so with gentle hands on her upper arms he turned her around again to face him.

"Of course you love your family, Elen," he said, trying to placate her. "But do you love them enough to take to your bed? And stay there for the rest of your term?"

Her jaw dropped open before she spat, "Are you completely out of your mind? I have responsibilities! I have children to see to—a house to clean—meals to prepare—clothes to wash and mend. I cannot be lounging about as if I were at my leisure!"

"If you value the life of this child you carry," he said a little more forcefully, "you will. If you feel it is important not to leave the rest of your children motherless, you will." His hands had tightened on her arms, but not painfully so; he just wanted her complete attention. "If you love your husband enough to see to your own health—_you will_."

Elen pulled away from him then and walked a short distance away. "You haven't even examined me yet. How do you know that all this is necessary?"

"You forget that I've lived over a dozen Human lifetimes, Elen. I've seen much—maybe not all, but much…" He joined her where she now stood, seeking her eyes and finally gaining them. "You have lost weight; your color is bad. The baby may be thriving inside you for now—but for how long? Are you able to keep food down?"

She looked away, shaking her head. "Sometimes," she said quietly.

"Have you been to see Lord Marach?" he asked her. Again she shook her head no. He waited until her eyes met his again. "Have you experienced any bleeding?"

"No," she said. When he continued looking at her, as if he might not believe what she was saying, she repeated, her eyes meeting his with a heated glare, "No, Elladan. No bleeding."

He finally smiled again, as if he were inwardly drawing a sigh of relief. "I will give you tonics and set up a special diet for you, and if you follow what I prescribe—even to staying in your bed for weeks at a time—if I see marked improvement, the harsher restrictions will be lifted."

He could see she was about to cry, so he sought to explain himself more fully, to show her that he wasn't making these edicts lightly. "Elen—" He let out a frustrated sigh, but continued more calmly, "I can see things that Humans cannot. The whites of your eyes have a yellowish cast—slight though it may be. Your hair is thin and lacks its usual healthy luster. Your face is gaunt. Something is definitely wrong inside you, and I suspect it is simple anemia and malnutrition. If you continue to weaken, I would not even expect the baby to survive, much less for you to." He hated the fear and sadness he saw on her face, but he had to reach her. "How could you even contemplate not doing these few things that I ask? It would make a tremendous difference to you and your family. It could be the difference between life and death."

Elen looked up into the Elf's eyes, hers awash with tears. "_How_ can I do this, Elladan? If I do as you say, my family suffers. If I do not, my baby and I do. Tell me, how can I accomplish this impossible task you have set before me?"

"We will find people to help you, Elen," he said gently. "You have many friends, and as many of them as there are, I know they can see to your family and theirs as well. James and the children can begin taking their meals in the dining hall, with the rangers. No one will begrudge them that, and no one will think less of you for having to resort to such a thing. Others have done it—did your opinion of them slip as a result? No! You knew they had some sort of difficulty, and I happen to know you went to extra trouble to help them personally. Do you think that others will not return the favor or will grumble when asked if they will? No! They will not!" He smiled at her, embracing her again. "I will set everything in motion. All you need do is go home and get into your bed. Everything else will be seen to, and you are not to worry about it again."

"What about Charlie?" she asked, the tears finally falling from her eyes, yet she looked more relieved than sad. "He's so full of energy, and I'm not sure that even Jamesica can keep up with him—nor is it fair to ask it of her. She's almost twelve, and she worked very hard to be accepted into study with Lord Marach. I was so proud when she dropped her fascination with weapons and turned to herb lore. I would hate to make her stop now; what if she becomes discouraged or loses interest and takes up the sword again?"

"Don't worry about Charlie or Jamesica," Elladan said. "Those two should be the least of your worries. We will work something out. We will speak with James. He is bound to have some good ideas."

Charlie came running up the riverbank then, and just before he flung himself—mud from head to toe—against Elen's skirts for a hug from his mother, Elladan grabbed one of his little arms and pulled him away, being careful not to pull him too close.

"Mae Govannen, Charlie!" Elladan said, his face lighting up with genuine pleasure as he pulled the child around so that they could speak to each other. "Let's you and I go swimming. Your mother is going home and leaving me in charge of you!"

"Is that true, Mama?" he asked, his voice incredulous. His mother never left him with anyone else.

"Yes, Charlie, it is true," Elen said with a sad glance at Elladan. "I will bring you clean clothes and leave them on the bank, and then I will see you at home later." She looked as if she would hug the child, mud and all, but Elladan took Charlie's muddy hand and led him back down the riverbank.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"What're we gonna do, El-ro-heer?" Andis asked. He was perched atop a bed in the Healing Halls. His clothes had been removed and replaced with a sleeping gown.

"My father is going to take the splint off your arm, and then you will no longer need the support of the sling," Elrohir said. "The wound has healed very well, and now the bone has, too."

Andis looked at his arm for a minute as if he were greatly puzzled, but he said nothing more. Then Elrond came into the Healing Halls and went to the cupboard that had the supplies he would need—the scissors especially. He went back to Andis and began to work, first cutting the knot from the linen strip that held the splint snugly to the child's small arm.

"But why did I have to change into sleeping clothes just to do this?" Andis asked. "Am I going back to bed?" His frown showed that he considered that to be a very bad idea.

"No, not to bed, Andis," Elrond said. "When we finish here, Elrohir and I are going to take you to a nice, quiet room, where we are going to talk about the bad dreams you have at night. It would be nice if they no longer plagued you, would it not?"

The change in the boy was instantaneous. His face grew pale and his gaze began to wander the room, as if he were looking for some way to escape. It didn't take Elven eyes to see that his hands now trembled. "I don't think I want to talk about that," he said, his voice lowered.

"Well I would like to talk to you about it," Elrond said. "You can talk, or not; it is as you wish." He'd kept his voice light and cheery, even though he was telling the boy false. Andis would have to speak, but Elrond would not belabor the point now. The child obviously was troubled enough at the prospect of visiting his nightmares; Elrond didn't want him to feel pressured as well. At least not yet—the Elf lord would have to make demands enough during the sessions themselves.

Andis didn't say anything else; he sat stoically while Elrond finished removing the splint. As soon as both pieces of wood had been laid on the bed beside the boy, Elrond took the child's arm into his hands and began flexing it slowly, noting the thin, red scar that ran across the outside of Andis' upper arm. He watched intently for signs of pain, but Andis seemed preoccupied, as if he was already thinking about the bad dreams, which he truly did not want to resurrect. Elrond briefly doubted his choice to be so truthful with Andis, since it was apparent that the mere thought of talking about the dreams was visibly concerning the boy already.

"Does it hurt when I do this?" Elrond asked, as he again gently pulled Andis' arm straight.

"No, it don't hurt," Andis said.

"All right, then if you would, please pick up one of those pieces of wood sitting beside you, so that I can make sure your arm works properly."

Andis did as he was asked with no trouble at all. It appeared as if he'd healed very well. So Elrond helped the boy down from the bed and took his hand, and then he led him out of the Healing Halls and down the corridor toward the room where the mind healing would commence. Elrohir followed a few paces behind. Had anyone been observing, and had seen the stricken expression on the child's face, they would have believed that Elrond might be leading Andis to his execution, instead of what the Elf hoped would ultimately be his redemption.

The room they entered was fairly austere, with few furnishings and no art upon the walls. The only thing that saved it from being completely grim was the large window, which graced one wall, through which a beautiful garden could be seen. There was a fountain just outside the window, and if one listened closely, you could hear the water as it danced and fell from a small dish at the top into larger ones below it. One might wonder the method by which the water was pumped, as it seemed mysterious, but it was truly just a spring, the volume and speed at which the water flowed keeping the fountain in perpetual motion.

Elrond had Andis lay down upon the large cushion on the floor, and he sat down beside him. Elrohir reclined on the other side of Andis and closed his eyes. His father had instructed him on his role in this session earlier, while Andis was preoccupied with discussing the long knife with Jeren at the morning meal. Elrohir was to relax, so that Andis would not feel any tension before the session even started, but he was not to fall into the trance that Elrond would be putting the child under. Elrohir was there to aid Andis in any way he could, up to and including holding him if the situation were warranted.

Elrond had hoped that Andis could be awake for these sessions, but judging the amount of fear that radiated from the boy, he knew that would not be possible. So he placed his hand on Andis' head to induce a light healing sleep.

"Now simply relax, Andis," he said, "and you will fall asleep. You might or might not remember what we speak of when you awake. But above all, fear nothing, for I will be with you in your dreams, if any should come. And Elrohir is right beside you, and will not leave you. So just relax, child. Just relax…"

His voice was warm and soothing and Elrohir did indeed have to fight to stay awake, even without his father's hand on him. But Andis closed his eyes and within seconds his breathing evened out and there was no doubt that he was asleep. The child was not completely unconscious, but he was very relaxed and would be able to speak, as he relived the attack at the homestead. It was rare that Elrond induced a healing sleep on someone who would be in trance anyway, but he hoped this would keep the child from growing too fearful before they even truly began. Elrond wondered at how far they would be able to go this morning, but everyone he'd ever used mind healing on was different, and he would know the answer to that question as the session progressed and not before.

"Andis, can you hear me?" Elrond asked. It took a few seconds, but the boy eventually nodded. Elrond scowled. The child would have to speak if this was going to work.

"Elrohir," Elrond said in a commanding voice. He feared his son was falling into trance as well and that would not help matters. "Elrohir!"

"Yes, father?" Elrohir finally answered.

"I need you wakeful."

"I understand. I am. I will be."

"Very well, we will begin. Andis, do you recall the first time you met Elrohir?"

Again the boy nodded. Grimacing, Elrond rephrased his question, making it a statement instead. "Tell me about the first time you met Elrohir."

Andis' voice, when he finally spoke, was soft—barely audible in Human terms—but quite loud enough for the Elf lord. "I woked up one night and he were sittin' beside me. I didn' feel good and I started crying…"

"I'm sorry to hear you were poorly then, but you are fine now and all is well." Elrond removed his hand from Andis' forehead, but placed it on his now mended arm. If the boy was in any pain, the Elf lord needed it stopped.

"Do you remember how you came to be in your parents' bed that night?"

Elrond had questioned Elrohir, Elladan and Jeren in depth, numerous times, to get all the details he could for these mind healing sessions. One never knew exactly what would turn out to be important, when dealing with the mind.

Again Andis nodded without voicing an answer, so Elrond tried again. "Tell me what happened, that had you asleep in your parents' bed that night."

Andis frowned and started to tremble immediately. "I don't know…"

Elrond had no intention of browbeating the information from the boy, but he'd known he would more than likely have to pry the cruel story from the child's mind. Gently, of course, but insistently.

"Elrohir, do you know why Andis was in his parents' bed that night?"

"Yes," Elrohir responded, but said no more.

Elrond shook his head, trying not to be exasperated with his son. Some people were more susceptible to trance than others. Elrohir's reaction this morning more than explained why Elrond's mind healing of him had taken the turn that it had. What couldn't be clarified was why his son could still not stand to watch or participate in a battle in which Jeren was taking part. Elrond worked with the mind, yes, but he couldn't always explain its quirks.

"Elrohir!" Elrond said in a more commanding voice. "Stay awake. You must, for Andis' sake."

Elrohir opened his eyes, and propped himself up on one elbow, hoping that would make this easier to do. "Andis was in his parents' bed that night, because he'd been wounded in an Orc attack at their homestead."

"Do you remember that, Andis?"

The child's trembling increased, so much so that Elrond reached for a blanket that had been lying beside him on the cushion. He placed it over Andis, tucking it around him securely. Then he repeated his question.

"N-no…" Andis answered haltingly.

"Think about earlier that day, before anything happened, before you saw Elrohir. Did you have a nice day? Were you playing outside?"

It took several moments, but Andis slowly smiled. "I played all day. Well, I call it playing, but my Papa calls it my work. And I always play where my Papa is, so that he can tell me things that I need to know."

"Ah, that is very good, Andis. I am glad that you were playing. That is what children are supposed to do."

Elrond almost always hated mind healing sessions, because this is something he would not be doing if the person he was treating did not have some sort of trouble. Sometimes it was minor, and those times could actually be humorous, but for the most part, the sessions were very dark and unpleasant. Andis was the youngest person that he'd ever treated with mind healing, so in a way, Elrond would be going forward blindly. The question would be how far to push a child of this age, whose thoughts and ideals had not yet fully formed. This boy was only the second Human that he'd ever used mind healing on—Jeren had been the first. While she had technically still been a child, she was much older, and her beliefs and morals had, for the most part, already been set.

Elrond was surprised when Andis said, unprompted, "My Papa is my bestest friend. We're always together. He _never_ leaves me..."

"Your Papa sounds like a very good man," Elrond said, his heart breaking just a little for what he was about to do. He despised himself for having to steer Andis to a joyful time, only to then draw him down a road leading to fear and sorrow.

Yet he felt as if he'd already made progress, by uncovering the crux of Andis' problem. The boy had been speaking of his father in the present tense—something that Elrond had noticed lately—whenever Andis mentioned the man at all, which in itself was rare. For the most part, he ignored the fact that he had even had a sire, but on occasion, something would remind him of the man, and he would speak about him—but not as if he were dead.

The child was refusing to acknowledge his father's death, even on the deepest levels in his mind, and Elrohir had become the substitute that Andis had placed in his father's stead. That is why Andis would panic when Elrohir was out of his sight—even if the Elf was in the same room, but hidden behind a bookshelf, choosing a book from the bottom shelf or crouching to pick something up from the floor behind a piece of furniture. If Elrohir was gone and Andis noticed it, his mind was nudging him that all was not well. His psyche knew what the secret was, while the conscious boy did not. And that would cause him to panic. The child's mind could not accept his father's death. The task now was to find out why—why Andis had locked this dreadful information behind his mental walls. Whatever the mind did to try and heal its wounds was always done for good reasons. Reasons which Elrond still had to uncover…

"So you played all morning and then had a midday meal, is that right?" Elrond asked.

"Yes. My Mama cooked us some chicken. It was fried and all crunchy outside. I like it like that."

"It does indeed sound good."

"It is. And Sissy helped her. Sissy can be kinda bossy, but mostly she's good."

Elrond smiled. They sounded like a typical brother and sister.

"And my Gran was takin' care of—_her_." Andis' face took on a definite disgusted expression.

"Who, Andis?"

"_Her_. My baby sister."

"Oh, you mean Jessa?" Elrond asked with what he hoped sounded like an innocent air.

"Yes. _Her_…"

"So your whole family ate their meal, and then what happened?"

"Me and my Papa went back outside to work…"

Andis' face began to cloud, his brows drawing together slightly. "We were out there for awhile, but then my Papa made me hurry and go inside the house. He came in after me and he and my Mama were whisperin' somethin'. My Papa got his sword and his bow, and I was gettin' kinda scared then. He only ever got out his sword to show it to people. But there weren't nobody there 'cept us, so I got afraid…"

"I'm right beside you, Andis. Can you see me?"

Elrond closed his eyes, concentrating. He didn't always utilize this aspect of mind healing, but if there was a chance that great fear was to be involved, he often did. He could actually connect his psyche with the other person's mind, giving the person an image of him, as if the Elf lord were right in the memory to help if trouble arose. The person then felt as if he were not alone, while he relived the experience he was describing. Conversely, Elrond could see into the person's mind and watch the events unfold, as if he were actually there in someone's dreadful nightmare. Molding his mind into another's was very taxing on him, but a necessary thing sometimes. The alternative was to have the person undergoing the healing be so intensely afraid so quickly, that less could be accomplished in one session.

Andis nodded, but fell silent, his trembling so great that Elrond could feel it by merely sitting next to him.

"Elrohir, are you still with us?"

With no hesitation, he answered, "Yes, Father."

"What happened then, Andis?"

"I don't know—" he quickly responded. "I don't wanna think about this no more…"

"I understand, child, but we must think about it for a little while longer. Now tell me, Andis, what happened then?" Elrond could compel answers, especially when he'd linked with the other's mind, and sadly, that is what he was having to do now.

"My Papa—he looked out the window, but slammed the shutter closed real fast. And latched it. I don't know why, but—_she_—started crying. My Mama said that maybe the noise scared her. But she's just a _baby_. I'm not a baby, 'cause I wasn't scared of some old shutter closin' loud." The disgust in his voice grew stronger as he spoke, and his volume grew louder as well. "And she wouldn't shut up. Mama tried to feed her to keep her mouth shut, but she wouldn't be quiet."

The boy had gone from fearful to extremely angry in a very small amount of time. Elrond prepared himself to drop the trance quickly, if it seemed necessary.

"I heard my Papa say to my Mama, about goin' outside to lead the monsters somewhere else, so that they wouldn't get us. She begged him not to go. She _begged_ him! But my stupid sister wouldn't shut up, and Papa knew the monsters would find us all and hurt us bad, so he left. He went outside to lead the monsters away because of _her_! It's all her fault. I _hate_ her!"

"Andis, child, awake," Elrond said quietly. The boy was crying now, and he'd fought his way out of the confining blanket. His fists were clenched and his face was red with all the emotion and the pure hatred that seemed to be taking over his little body.

The boy's eyes opened and he instantly calmed down, wiping at his face with his fists. "What happened?" he asked, confused.

"If you do not recall, that is perfectly all right," Elrond said. He looked at Elrohir, whose face reflected the sadness of what he'd heard so far. While what had been uncovered this morning was very important, neither of them were fooled into believing that there wasn't more—much more—that Andis had hidden within his mind.

"How do you feel, Andis?" Elrond asked him as he helped him up from the cushion.

"All right, I guess. My head kinda hurts."

"So does mine," Elrond admitted. "I think I will go rest. How about you?"

"I'd rather go outside and play," Andis said, looking up at Elrohir hopefully.

Elrohir smiled sadly and held his hand out for the child to grasp. "I would like that, as well," he said.

Elrond watched the pair leave the room as he tidied up, refolding the blanket that had covered Andis. He dreaded what was coming in their next session, but it was unavoidable. He would have to lead the child through the entire ordeal, in order for it to be out in the open so that Andis could deal with all the tragedy that had befallen him. And above all, Elrond would have to try and repair the damaged relationship between the boy and his baby sister.

She was all the family he had left.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Y-e-s…" Elen said, as she studied the portrait of Timm. "Yes, both he and his family live here at the settlement. His wife is Jeananne, and they have two children, a boy and a girl. Of course Timm is often gone, since he is out on patrol regularly. He is with Lorn's unit." Elen then studied the portrait of Anders and Mavis, as she sat propped up on pillows in her bedroom in her family's cabin. "He looks surprisingly like his brother, does he not?" she asked, as she handed the pictures back to Elladan.

"Yes, he does. But these children we found look nothing like the two of them. Are you certain, Elenmere?" Elladan so did not want these people to be related to Andis and Jessa, but he could see that what he wanted was not going to turn out to be reality.

One day. It had taken one day to find the children's relatives. Now Jessa and Andis would be gone from Imladris, probably very soon.

It was after the evening meal and Elen's children were already put to bed—by their father tonight. James was sitting with Elladan and Elen, his expression one of a man who is thinking about things that were not yet being discussed. He looked as if his thoughts were a million leagues away…

"Poor little tykes," Elen said sadly. "And the boy—to not only be orphaned, but to bear witness to his parents' demise." She 'tsked' quietly. Coming back to herself only seconds later, she added, "But Timm is home at the moment, nursing a wound to his hand, so if you would like, James could go fetch him." She nodded to her husband and James nodded back.

"I will go find him tomorrow. That will be soon enough," Elladan replied, trying very hard not to let on about how much this news was distressing him. He got up from his chair and sat on the bed beside Elen. "What we need to do now is discuss your getting better."

"We've already discussed that, Elladan," Elen said in a tone bordering on sarcasm. "I stay here in bed, and some of the women will take turns making meals for me; meals consisting of foods, which you have instructed them to include in my diet, so as to help build my strength back. James will dose me with tonics night and day, and those same ladies will mind my children and see to the laundering and cleaning, while I sit here like a queen doing nothing at all! Oh Elladan! I do not think I can bear this!" The last sentence was said with a piercing wail that actually made the Elf wince.

"Now Elen…" James began.

"Do not 'now Elen' me!" she said crossly. She looked at her husband as if she had much more on her mind to tell him, but was kindly refraining from doing so at the moment, in front of a guest.

"Elen, you might as well not even start this, if you do not intend to change your attitude," Elladan returned, already tired of her whining. Elen was the most cooperative of women, and one of the sweetest, except when she thought there might be some injustice being done, such as her being prevented from doing her fair share of the work. Then she could be downright shrewish.

She looked at him, with as much remorse as she could gather. Which wasn't much, at this point.

"I am doing my best, Elladan," she said, a little less sharply. After a pause, she asked, "Was there more that you wanted to discuss?"

"Actually, yes," Elladan said. "I wanted to propose something to the two of you." He stopped to gather his thoughts, because his plan would be hard to sell to them, Elen especially.

"I want to take Charlie back to Imladris with me."

"Absolutely not!" Elen exclaimed, not even willing to contemplate the idea.

"Now Elen…" James said again, but he clamped his lips together when he spied the glare his wife aimed at him. However, he rallied quickly. "I think it would be a good idea, Elen." Before she could retort with whatever might spew from her mouth, he added, "You will be even more miserable with Charlie about, while you are not able to care for him yourself. We don't want to make Jamesica do it, and I'm too busy to mind him. You know that is true."

"But how can I do without one of my children? And for who knows how long?"

"It might not be for long at all," Elladan said. "I plan to go visit with Timm tomorrow, tell him about Anders and his wife, and explain about the children. If his injury isn't too severe, he might want to join me on the trip back, to acquaint himself with Andis and Jessa, and decide about their fate. I cannot unquestioningly expect him to upset his own family to accommodate Anders' children."

"Well I don't know why not!" Elen said. "They are his kin. Of course he will take them in!"

"That is how _you_ feel, Elen, not necessarily how he will feel. I will talk to him and Jeananne tomorrow, give them a little time to decide what they will do, and in the meantime, you and James can discuss my idea about taking Charlie back with me. A few weeks in the gardens of Rivendell can do nothing but good for him, and my father would love it. And it would also give little Andis someone around his own age to play with. Please do consider it, Elen." Turning to James he said, "I know you can convince her…"

James smiled and nodded. "I do have my ways," he said, lifting one brow. "I can convince her..."

Elen huffed and pouted, crossing her arms over her ample bosom, but said no more.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Elrohir placed his hand on Andis' fair head, with his thumb covering one of the boy's bright blue eyes, gently forcing it closed. Andis lay on his side on the sofa in the sitting room of Jeren and Elrohir's bedchamber with Elrohir squatting beside him.

"Sleep, Andis," he said. "You will feel better very soon."

After Andis and Elrohir had left Elrond in the mind healing room, they had gone back to the Healing Halls to get Andis dressed in his clothes again, so that they could then go outside to play. But the more time that went by, the quieter Andis became. When Elrohir asked him if something was wrong, he'd really not known what the boy might say. Did he remember the session they'd just been through with his father? Was he upset by what had been revealed? Did he even remember that anything _had_ been revealed?

"My head hurts kinda bad now," Andis had said, his voice sounding weak.

So Elrohir had made some Valerian tea, but by the time it was ready for the boy to drink, Andis had laid down on the bed on which he'd been sitting. Elrohir helped the child up and just as he was about to give the tea to him, Elrond had walked into the Healing Halls.

His father had looked haggard, indeed…

"Do you have enough of that for me?" Elrond had asked him, his brows drawn together with the pain.

Elrohir smiled and nodded, but Andis had then startled them both, when he'd launched himself at Elrohir at the mere sight of Elrond, sending the tea in the Elf's hand sloshing over the rim of the cup. As Elrond drew near, the child only held on tighter to Elrohir, his arms and legs clamping around the Elf's body. When Elrond reached for Andis to offer some comfort, the boy cringed away and hid his face against Elrohir's shoulder.

In spite of the obvious rejection, Elrond placed his hand on the child's head, not only imparting some of his healing essence, but also to cover Andis' ear, so that the boy could not hear what he wanted to say to his son.

"We will try again tomorrow morning, but I fear he will by necessity have to be sleeping before he even goes into the room—perhaps before he lays eyes on me at all."

Elrohir offered his father the cup of Valerian, which he gratefully took and drained, but as he tasted the drink, the Elf lord grimaced.

"Elrohir!" he'd choked out, after he was able to open his clenched teeth. "Before you give this boy any Valerian, you are to sweeten it with honey first. Am I understood?"

He'd been so dramatic for Andis' benefit, just to, hopefully, get a toe back into the child's good graces. But if his display had any effect, Andis gave no indication of it. He only lifted his head again after he was sure that Elrond had left the Healing Halls.

"You're not afraid of my father... _are you_?" Elrohir had asked, with feigned incredulity in his tone.

Andis hadn't replied; he'd looked away as he barely nodded his head.

Elrohir had then dosed Andis with more tea; he'd made plenty, anticipating his father's need. And he'd put a big glob of honey into Andis' cup, which, judging by the child's face as he sipped it, was the right thing to do.

They'd then come to the sitting room and now Elrohir was trying to get Andis to rest on the sofa, but that wasn't happening very quickly. He knew that the Valerian would take effect soon, so Elrohir merely waited, his hand caressing the child's head, hoping to lessen the pain somewhat.

He was soon rewarded, when Andis' eyes stayed closed of their own accord. His lips parted and his breathing grew more even. He was finally asleep.

Elrohir took himself into his bedchamber then, leaving the door barely ajar. It would do no good for Andis to wake and be disoriented and frightened, with Elrohir nowhere to be seen, but he needed some time and some space, to take care of himself.

He walked onto the veranda, sitting heavily into one of the chairs at the table there. He placed his elbows on the tabletop and rested his forehead against his clasped fists. He'd been fighting his emotions since they'd discovered the Human family battling futilely against the Orcs at their homestead, and those feelings had grown steadily within his heart as time went on. From anger to sadness, if he didn't deal with this soon, it would overwhelm him at a place or time not of his choosing. He wanted to avoid that at all costs. Emotional outbursts were not usually the norm for Elves, nor were they easily tolerated by others. It was the Elven way…

The anguish of holding it in had reached fever pitch this morning during Andis' mind healing session. Hearing the fear in the small boy's voice, seeing him tremble. Elrohir thought he might now know in a small way how a father would feel as he watched one of his children go through something painful or frightening.

He wanted to scream at the injustice, but he settled for resting his fists on the table, ever mindful of the sleeping boy in the other room. These children were so small, and they were having to go through experiences that people three times their ages might not be able to endure. _Why, and for what reason_?

Of course he knew that things happened—good and bad—despite a person's race or their age. He felt in his heart that events simply occurred—there was no purpose at all. That was the nature of life. Things happened sometimes that were out of anyone's control. One could only hope that there was somewhat of a balance in one's life; that bad thing upon bad thing would not drag you down and dog you until the end of your days, that some happiness would be interspersed in between.

He thought about Jeren's life and all she'd endured. Yes, horrible things had happened to her, but the sum total of all the events in her life had shaped her into the woman she was today. But how did he know that she wouldn't have still been the Jeren that he loved, only a little less daring and reckless, had she not been beset by Orcs at sixteen? How different would her life have been, if her father had done the intelligent thing and had sent her to live with Elen's family, instead of leaving her alone at his small cabin to be preyed upon by Orcs?

He didn't want to think about that! It left him feeling angrier than he had been before, and at the same time sad and helpless. Yes, anger was but one of his emotions. The sorrow and pity and angst he felt for Andis was almost unendurable, when he let himself feel at all, and it was growing and piercing his heart in ways that left him breathless, now that he was allowing it to come to the fore.

He stood and strode to the railing and clutched it with fingers that soon grew numb, because he was squeezing it so hard within his grasp that it would be dead, did it have life in the first place.

He clenched his teeth to keep from shouting, telling the world that he hated its evil and everything evil within it! Anything that was causing even one small tremor, one tiny ripple of fear in the boy sleeping in the next room needed to vanish, or if not, then Elrohir wanted to hunt it down and slay it, so that it could harm the child no more!

He felt as if he were choking on these feelings, hate and anger clogging his throat, treachery and malevolence holding his heart in its vice-like grip. He breathed deeply, trying to dislodge the icy fingers clawing at him, and as he continued to breathe, slowly inhaling and exhaling, he gradually felt the talons loosen, as if the dragon had been slain and its life was slowly ebbing away.

That was good…

But also bad…

The fiery anger and hatred was then replaced by sorrow…

Elrohir seldom wept, and he would not do so now, but the tears he would not shed built up in his heart until he thought it would burst with the pent up pressure. The last time he'd really allowed his tears to fall had been when he'd learned that his mother was beyond his father's help, and would leave soon for the Undying Lands. The pain he was feeling now was not so devastating as to bring him to tears, but it was so severe as to be physical, and for a moment he feared he might be ill. He closed his eyes…

He couldn't tell how long he'd been standing there, leaning against the railing on the veranda, but gradually he became aware of his wife's hands, gentle upon his shoulders, as she massaged the muscles there, and then up his neck and back down again. He was surprised by her presence—he had been so preoccupied that he'd not even heard her come in.

That shouldn't surprise him, though. When an Elf was purging emotion from his soul—if and when he could allow himself to do so—he always found a place where he knew he would be safe from anything that could harm him, be it an enemy with weapons or another's careless inquiries. He'd come into his bedchamber—his sanctuary here in Imladris—because the only other person who might enter unannounced would be the one with whom he shared a bond.

The bond…

"I am sorry I loosened my hold on our bond, Jeren…" he began, but she placed her fingers upon his lips to still the words.

"Don't be, Elrohir," she said. "At first I was alarmed, because I feared for you; but soon I realized what I was feeling, and I came to you as fast as I could."

She led him back inside and prompted him to sit on the bed. She bent and started removing his boots and he protested.

"Jeren, this isn't necessary."

"It might not be, but it is what I am going to do."

As soon as his feet were free of his boots, Jeren pressed him down onto the bed and sat beside him. "This is about Andis, isn't it?" she asked after a moment.

He nodded, not yet fully able to speak about it. He wanted to tell her about the session—he would tell her—but for now, all he really needed was her presence. He reached up and ran the backs of his fingers down her cheek, and she smiled in response. Then his hand reached around to the nape of her neck and drew her face down to his, and he kissed her lips so sweetly it brought tears to her eyes.

She kissed him in return, sending her love through their bond; his response was to put his arms around her and draw her even closer, pulling her down beside him on the bed. They lay together for awhile, and every now and then Elrohir would guide her face back to his, needing the physical contact as if she were a part of his body, and he needed her lungs in order to breathe and her heart to beat along with his. She lay in the crook of his arm, close beside him, with the side of her face resting against his chest. It was what he seemed to want.

But as time went on, Elrohir came more to life again. He lifted Jeren's chin to gaze into her eyes, his filled with open desire. They'd had hardly no time alone together since the children had been found, and now the children slept in their room as well…

"Where is Jessa?" he asked innocently enough, as he ran his finger down the side of her throat to the collar of her shirt. He deftly undid several of the buttons, and then his hand slid inside to cover her breast.

"I left her with your father, of all people," Jeren said, as she let her head fall back, reveling in the feelings that Elrohir was awakening in her. "I am sure that if he needs to get back to work, he will take her to Mariel." Her fingers had already started working at the buttons on his shirt. "Do you think Andis will sleep for long?"

"Long enough…" Elrohir replied, turning her over onto her back and raking his teeth along her throat.

And Andis did sleep—

—quite long enough…

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**A/N: Not such a terribly long wait this time... Thanks to all who have reviewed so far. It really helps to know if people like-or don't like-how the story is unfolding.  
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	33. Chapter 33

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

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"Beggin' your pardon, Sir, but… how exactly have you come to know this?"

Elladan was standing on the threshold of Timm's cabin the following morning, having just told him the news about Anders and Mavis. Timm seemed disbelieving of the entire story, especially since it was told to him by a stranger. For that reason, he appeared to be reserving any sort of emotion for a time when he was certain that something untoward had truly happened to his only brother.

"It's Elladan… please," the Elf reminded the man, having just introduced himself a moment before. But as was often the case with many people, Timm certainly knew of the sons of Elrond, even though this was the first time he'd met either of them face to face, but the prospect of treating with such lofty beings was a tad bit intimidating. "And I know because I was there. My brother Elrohir and I, along with my brother's wife Jeren, were acting on behalf of the Imladris Elves, when we happened upon the Orc attack in progress. Only two of their children survived.

Timm closed his eyes momentarily, seemingly overcome with the idea of his brother's death. But in just a few seconds, he cleared his throat, and again looked at Elladan with directness. "'Tis a blow to hear such news, you understand," Timm said as he turned his back and walked further into the room. "Where are my manners?" he asked distractedly, looking back at the Elf in apology. "Please, come in. Could I get you some sort of refreshment? I feel the need for something a little stronger than tea, if you would care to join me?"

Timm's wife was nowhere to be seen, but Elladan hadn't thought to inquire as to her whereabouts. She would be needed to make the decision about the children, but perhaps it would be better if her husband spoke to her alone about it later.

Timm fetched a bottle from a high cabinet in the kitchen of the little cabin, and found two mismatched cups, which he put on the table. Elladan pulled out one of the chairs and sat down, and as soon as Timm had the drinks poured, the Elf took a sip. _Some fairly good brandy…_

Timm sat and took a large gulp, wincing after he'd swallowed, and then he gently placed the glass back onto the table. "The attack was when?" he asked, as if he couldn't quite grasp what Elladan had been trying to tell him. "And—not meaning any disrespect—do you have some sort of proof that it was _my_ brother?"

"It occurred a little over a month ago," Elladan offered. "The boy had taken an arrow practically through his arm, which broke it, and he'd been hit in the head with a sword hilt as well. We were waiting for him to recover before we began the search for any relatives the children might have." _That was more or less the truth…_

"The children…" Anders said distractedly. He then seemed to snap back to the discussion at hand. "A boy you say? The only child I knew of was a little girl. Little…" he said as if musing. "She would be thirteen by now." He took another sip of his brandy, then glanced back up at Elladan. "She was a pretty little thing. I am certainly glad to hear that she survived as well."

Elladan's gaze darted away and then back to Timm's again. "I am sorry," he said, "but the older girl did not survive the attack. The other remaining child is a baby. A girl. Jessa is her name and we think she's not quite a year old. The only information we've been able to come by has been given to us by Andis. And he's only four, so he does not know many details. As for the proof you need, we searched the house and came across a portrait of your brother and his wife, along with one of you."

Elladan drew the copies of the pictures from his tunic pocket and placed them on the table in front of Timm. The man picked them up, one at a time, looking them each over well.

"We had copies made of the originals, to reserve them for the children—for when they are older."

Timm gazed at the pictures with unmasked regret. "Yes, this is my brother and his wife," he said, and then his eyes turned to the other portrait, "and this is of me." He put the pictures back down and took another healthy swallow of the brandy. "I cannot believe they are gone." His lips thinned before he said, "And my mother? She was with them as well."

Elladan nodded his head slightly. "Yes, she was killed, too, along with the older girl. Andis has only called her Sissy, so we do not know her given name."

"Avriel," Timm said quietly. "Her name was Avriel. A very pretty little girl, from what I remember."

Elladan smiled. "That name would be a mouthful for a little boy; I suppose that's how she acquired 'Sissy' as his name for her."

Timm gazed off into the room for a few moments and as his eyes met Elladan's again he said, "It's been nine years since I've laid eyes on my brother or any of his family. Nine years. I'd always hoped…"

Elladan said nothing. What was there to say? As an Elf, he rarely thought about death, although he had lost enough friends in battle to learn firsthand how life can certainly be fleeting. One missed move and a battle with an Orc could go terribly wrong. An unseen archer and an Elf could be as dead as any man. So he could very well understand how Timm would lament the wasted time. There were things Elladan wished he could now say to his mother that he had not thought to say before she sailed. And while he knew she still lived on the other side of the world, there were times when he lamented her loss as if she were dead.

"I suppose, whether a person is an Elf or a Man, time is always something to strive against squandering."

Timm poured them each more brandy, even though Elladan's cup had barely been touched. The man took another large swallow. "He blamed me."

At Elladan's baffled expression, Timm explained, "Anders... He took an Orc's blade to his right knee ten years ago, when he was a ranger and I was just a novice. Our patrol had come upon some Orcs, and he and I had been assigned to flank them from the left. When we were in position, and the Orcs caught sight of us, I froze. That left Anders to fight for both of us, and he did a wondrous job of it, but just before he cut the last one down, the beast took a swipe at his leg. The healer saved it, but it no longer bent right, and he was always in pain. It was a wonder that Anders did not take to this," and here Timm held up his half-empty glass. "At least I assume he did not. He had not when last I saw him, when he denounced me as his brother. Me? Sometimes I drink enough for the both of us."

If an Elf ever squirmed, Elladan would have, at the uncomfortable position he was in. Timm looked to be part way to drinking himself into a stupor now, and Elladan did not feel comfortable even thinking about allowing this man—if he were a drunkard—anywhere near Andis or Jessa. Timm had all but admitted that he drank too much to him just now.

But Timm looked at the bottle and at his half empty glass, and then took them both to the drain board. He poured what remained in his cup into the sink and replaced the bottle on the top shelf of the cupboard. "There'll be no more of that," he said, turning back around to face Elladan. "Years ago I came to terms with the fact that I no longer had a brother, and I'll not now retrace the steps it took me to come to those terms." He looked thoughtful for a moment, and then added, "Besides, I made a promise to my wife…"

"Yes you did," Jeananne said from the doorway. She was halfway inside when she'd noticed that Timm had company, and that he'd also retrieved the brandy from the top shelf in the kitchen.

She strode into the cabin, depositing onto the sideboard her basket that contained the dry clothing that she'd just retrieved from the wash line. She was a very slim woman, with dark hair and clear gray eyes, and as those piercing eyes bored into her husband, she took off her bonnet and laid it atop the basket.

"What has you speaking of Anders again?"

Elladan had risen from his seat as soon as she'd spoken from the open doorway. "My name is Elladan, and I am afraid I've come with bad news."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Elladan," she said. "I've heard Elen speak of you often."

The Elf smiled. "I hope you do not believe everything she's told you."

Jeananne smiled slightly in return, but said, "Bad news?"

Elladan told her about Mavis and Anders, and how they'd left two children behind.

Jeananne practically collapsed into one of the vacant chairs at the table, and taking Elladan's cup, she downed a hefty swallow of his brandy. She coughed primly, obviously fighting the burning sensation that was searing down her throat.

She looked at her husband with a mix of anger and pity as he sat down in the chair beside her. "I _told you_—so many times…" She looked away from him, but then looked skyward, as if hoping for some divine inspiration for her next words, which she aimed at Elladan again. "They had a child. A little girl." She rolled her eyes, before correcting herself. "Goodness, the child would be into her teens by now. How did she fare?" It was obvious she was struggling to hold back tears.

"Avriel was killed as well," Timm said. At hearing his words, she gasped, holding her hand to her mouth, seemingly to keep herself from weeping outright. Timm placed his hand on his wife's arm in support. She laid her fingers atop his, accepting his welcome touch.

When Jeananne had mastered her voice again, she asked, "So there is no one left of the family? Not even—our mother?"

Elladan then explained about the attack and also about Andis and Jessa.

"This is so sudden!" she breathed. "I'd always hoped…"

"If only Anders hadn't been so pigheaded!" Timm said angrily.

"_Anders_, pigheaded? How about you? You were as much to blame for this stupidity as he was!"

Elladan wanted to excuse himself from this family argument, but there was still much to discuss. He looked out the window while they continued to quarrel with one another.

"Me? He's the one who renounced me!"

"I told you that Mavis had written to me, and she explained exactly what was said when you parted ways with your brother. I sometimes think there wasn't a whole brain between the two of you men put together!" Jeananne rose, and stalked a few feet away, but stopped. Turning to Elladan, she said, "Anders was tired of Timm's moping and drinking, thinking that Anders blamed him for the injury to his knee. But Anders understood. He just could not get Timm to believe it! So he told Timm that as long as the pity party continued, he had no brother! But my stiff-necked husband only took one part of that sentence to heart!"

The Elf did not know what in the world to say to that, so he wisely kept quiet. Timm's expression went from anger to one of near sheepishness. "Wife, must we air our dirty laundry in front of a guest?" he asked, his voice much calmer and quieter than before. "There are things to decide."

Elladan could see the tension ease from Jeananne's shoulders as she again thought about the slain family. "Two little children?" she asked. At Elladan's nod, she said, "What are their ages?"

Elladan repeated everything he'd told Timm.

"They're only babies," Jeananne said. "Poor little tykes."

Elladan wanted to breathe easy over all that had transpired so far. It did not look as if the Elves would be forced to turn the children over to a man who drank too much, and that was a blessing. But he clenched his jaw with the realization that Timm being unfit would not be the reason that the children could remain in Imladris. Having met the man, he could think of nothing that could stop Timm and Jeananne from claiming Andis and Jessa, unless they simply did not want the burden.

Timm laced his fingers together and rested his joined hands on the tabletop. "So… Do I need to go to Rivendell to get the children, or will the Elves bring them here?"

"You need not make any hasty decisions," Elladan said quickly, trying to sound reassuring, but he could hear the desperation in his own voice when he thought about giving Jessa up. He gave a sigh of relief when it appeared as if neither Timm nor Jeananne had noticed. "I haven't given you all the details about Andis yet."

Timm frowned. "You said he was healing…"

"And he is," Elladan assured him, "at least physically." Elladan rose and walked toward the window that stood open over the sink. He knew of no easy way of telling Timm about Andis' problems without also giving the sordid details of his brother's uneasy passing at the hands of Orcs. Turning around and leaning against the drain board, he said, "Andis not only witnessed Anders' death, we're afraid he thinks he may have caused it, and that has left its mark on the boy's mind."

"How can he possibly think that? He's only a little child," Jeananne said reasonably.

Elladan then told them both about the Orc attack and all that had transpired. "In all probability, Andis feels responsible for his father's death. In his mind, had he not broken away from his grandmother and run to Anders, then the Orcs wouldn't have killed the man." Elladan joined the couple back at the table, although he remained standing. "Everyone knows that isn't the case—Anders would have died one way or another. But Andis does not know that, and it is a fact that childish minds can usually invent ways that make mishaps their fault. And another point that needs to be made… from some of the things that Andis has told us, we have concluded that he and Anders were very close, and now Andis has developed an attachment to my brother in his father's stead, one that isn't healthy."

Timm's brows knit together. "I don't understand…"

"Elrohir cannot leave Andis alone for any period of time without the boy becoming so fearful that he makes himself sick. No one can take my brother's place with him, not even me, and I'm Elrohir's twin.

"I was present at the attack on the homestead. Andis is in no way cowardly or timid. He was fearless in defense of his father, but now, just the simple act of my brother not being in his sight sends the boy into a panic. It simply doesn't agree with what we know about him. Something inside the child's mind has broken and it needs mending.

"Have either of you knowledge of my father, Elrond of Rivendell?" Elladan asked them then, seemingly changing the subject.

"Of course I have heard of him," Timm replied. "He's renowned as a healer." Jeananne nodded her head as well.

"That's right," Elladan agreed. "He is a healer. But what most do not realize is that he heals not only the body, but the mind as well. I left Rivendell before he had attempted to try his mind healing on Andis, but I am sure that by now he has had at least one session with the boy, and by the time I return my father will have an opinion as to how to proceed with healing Andis' mind, if he hasn't already made strides in doing so."

"Well, if I have my way about it, I will go back with you," Timm said. "I would see the children and let them know that their aunt and uncle will not abandon them."

Elladan then looked directly into Timm's eyes. "It may take some time for Andis to come to grips with his father's death. With his extreme attachment to my brother, it may not be possible for us to try separating him from Elrohir at this time. Even if you do go with me to Imladris, it may not be advisable for you to bring Andis back here until his mind is further on the path of healing."

"Worry not," Jeananne replied with confidence. "We will do as we are advised by your father." She looked at Timm as if emphasizing the point with him, making sure he understood that he was not to be 'pigheaded' when it came to this. "If Andis must stay in Rivendell for some time to come, then that is exactly what will happen. If Lord Elrond does not object, we will bring Jessa home and get her used to us and our family. I think the sooner that happens the better."

Elladan nodded, but he was feeling anything but happy about the way events were unfolding.

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"But _why_, El-ro-heer?"

Andis was not at all pleased the morning following the mind healing session, when Elrohir wanted him to drink some more of the Valerian tea. "My head don't hurt—nothin' else does neither. _Why_ do I have to?"

Andis then clamped his lips shut, even though Elrohir crouched before him with the cup of tea practically against the boy's mouth. They were again in the sitting room that adjoined their bedchamber, with Andis sitting on the sofa and Elrohir trying not to be too impatient as he attempted to get the child to drink the herbal tea.

"I've put honey in it," Elrohir said in way of enticement, but when the boy's lips only clenched tighter, the Elf simply said, "Because I am asking you to, Andis."

He hated deceiving the child in this way, but he knew that Andis wouldn't willingly go to the Healing Halls today—or to the room where mind healing was undertaken—especially if he knew that Elrond was going to be there. Even though Elrohir wished they could wait a day or two longer before attempting another session, his father had deemed that unwise. Elrohir believed in his heart that his father knew what was best in this situation. No matter how he personally felt about it, he had to follow through with his father's wishes. After all Andis had been through already, Elrohir would not gamble on the boy's future.

When Andis had awoken yesterday afternoon, famished, Elrohir had taken him to the kitchens, where Bellasiel had fixed him a plate, which the child had eaten ravenously. He had then taken Andis outside to play, and the boy had acted as if nothing at all had changed in his life. It was as if the mind healing session had never taken place. But since Elrohir knew that it had, it made him wonder if this method was going to work on the boy. _He was awfully young…_

Andis no longer felt at ease near Elrond, as he had before. They had been friends—until the mind healing session, that is. Last night at their evening meal, Andis would not even look at Elrond, nor would he speak to him if the Elf lord asked him a question. He'd leaned against Elrohir, his face pressed into the Elf's sleeve, hiding his eyes, until someone else began speaking, and the conversation was successfully steered away from him. Yet when Jeren asked the boy a question, he readily answered, happy at least for the moment. When Elrond again said something to Andis that required an answer, the child looked at his plate, but kept his lips closed in a pout.

Much as they were now…

"Andis…" Elrohir said, not in a threatening way, but sounding as if he would not take no for an answer. The boy heaved a deep sigh and opened his lips, allowing Elrohir to place the cup against his teeth. Andis then took the cup and tipped it into his mouth, taking a large swallow.

"There," Elrohir said, "that wasn't so bad, was it?"

"I guess not," Andis admitted sullenly, "but I still don't know why I had to drink it. Even with honey it tastes bad, but mostly it makes me sleepy." Andis had not been looking at Elrohir at all, and now he'd let his head fall forward in disappointment. But before he spoke next, he raised his big, blame-filled eyes to the Elf's own, placing fault firmly on Elrohir's shoulders. "And I was wantin' to go outside and play. Jeren promised I could ride Bunny this morning—and now I won't be able to—I'll be asleep."

In order to give Elrohir much needed breaks from time to time, Jeren had the idea of getting the boy a pony from a nearby horse breeder, who also happened to breed ponies for children. This horse farm was where Two had been bred as well. So shortly after they'd arrived in Rivendell with the children, she'd asked Elrond if they might get a small mount for Andis, which was something that she could help him with. It would not require anyone else's attention, only hers. That way she could hopefully build a friendship with the child, so that eventually, perhaps Elrohir would not be needed while Andis was taking his riding lessons.

It was an idea worth trying, so Elrond had agreed, and Jeren had gotten it done, sending a messenger to the breeder along with a note as to exactly what she was looking for, as well as enough coin to purchase the animal. It had taken two weeks for the little equine to arrive, but as soon as it had, Jeren had first thoroughly checked the pony to make sure its temperament matched what she'd requested of the breeder.

The animal was a sweet little sorrel mare that Andis had named Bunny. She was about two years old and as gentle as the day was long. But most importantly, Andis loved her and, after his splint had come off, had spent many hours learning to ride her.

However, it hadn't released Elrohir from his bondage to the boy. The riding lessons could start with just Andis and Jeren—just the two of them—but every single time they'd done this, there had always been a moment that Jeren could see Andis' expression change, when some realization occurred to the child. He'd look all around himself, but only after his eyes didn't find what he'd been looking for, had he begun to call for 'El-ro-heer'. He would then panic and the Elf would have to be found. So Elrohir never left his side for long. It seemed as if a quarter of an hour was the limit to Andis' inattention to this detail.

Elrohir placed the cup aside and then brought out the game of Ringers that he'd borrowed from his father's study. As soon as he'd placed the string into a circle on the floor, Andis was down on his knees ready to play. Elrohir and his father had agreed to meet here in the sitting room an hour after they'd parted from their morning meal. Now Elrohir and Andis had half an hour to go before the Elf lord was supposed to arrive. How better to measure Andis' sleepiness, than by engaging him in a game as the herb took effect?

It didn't take long. Andis went from kneeling on the floor to sitting instead. And just a few moments later, he laid himself down, running his fingers over the plush rug where they'd been playing. And just a few minutes after that, his eyes closed and did not open when Elrohir softly called his name.

Elrohir sat on the rug beside Andis, his long fingers stroking the child's blond head. A part of him wanted to take the boy far away, so that he didn't have to go through the mind healing sessions. A place where he could live in blissful ignorance, never remembering that he'd even had a father that he'd loved. But he wondered if that would really be the compassionate thing to do at all. Would Andis rather have never known his father, or would he sooner remember the man and how his father had loved him best of all?

Elrohir knew the answer to this, but his heart kept asking the question. The better part of him knew that the sessions were for the child's own good, and that Andis would never live a full life if he didn't go through this suffering now. The Elf had been fighting it, but Elrohir had to admit that with every day that passed, he felt more and more like he could someday be a parent to Andis.

There was a quiet knock on the door, and Elrohir got up from the floor and admitted Elrond into the room. The look on the Elf lord's face told him that his father had probably been thinking some of the same thoughts that he'd just been pondering. He could see the pain etched around his father's eyes, and he could feel a small echo of the ache in his father's heart. Elrohir gently picked Andis up off the rug and took him into the bedchamber, where he placed him on the bed that he usually shared with Jeren.

He looked into his father's eyes, pleading without words for him to tread easy, even though he knew he needn't have worried that the Elf lord would do otherwise. What they had to do would be extremely difficult for them all, but Elrond wouldn't allow it to be any worse than was absolutely necessary.

Elrond sat next to the sleeping child and placed his hand upon Andis' head. He closed his eyes, but what he saw, Elrohir did not know. The Elf lord then opened them, and said, "Andis, do you see me and hear me?"

Andis slowly nodded his head, his eyes still closed. But he wasn't frowning or pulling away, which both puzzled and gladdened Elrohir.

"That is good, Andis," Elrond said. "Now, I want you to tell me in your own words about the day that you met Elrohir. He wasn't there during the day; you saw him for the first time that evening, and you were feeling poorly. Your head hurt and you had a broken arm. But those things are healed now, so you have no pain today." Elrond took a deep breath. "Now tell me of your day before you met Elrohir. Can you do that?"

Andis nodded again, then said, "What should I tell you?" His words slurred sleepily.

"Say what you will," Elrond said gently.

"Where do I start?"

"Wherever you wish."

Elrohir placed a hand on Elrond's arm, a question in his eyes.

"I am masking my true self from him," Elrond said quietly, so that Andis couldn't hear him. "Today I am just a benevolent stranger asking him questions, and he has not remembered anything as of yet." He looked pointedly at his son, and then added, "Would that I had thought of doing this the first time. Then perhaps Andis would not shun the very sight of me now."

One corner of Elrohir's mouth quirked up in a wry grin, and then he nodded, placing a reassuring hand on Andis' knee.

"The day I met El-ro-heer," Andis began, "I'd been playing outside a bunch with my Papa. Well, he would work and I would work, but really I was just playin'. My Papa always said that playin' was my work." Andis' eyes fluttered for a moment and then his face was still again. "I don't think… I don't wanna talk about that day," he said, his brow furrowing. "I don't think I 'member it good."

"I think you do remember it, Andis," Elrond said, his voice soft. "But let me refresh your memory. You had a midday meal with your family—your mother fried some chicken, and you liked it very well. How many pieces did you eat?"

Andis smiled at the pleasant memory. "I got to have three pieces! I got both of the wings and even a leg!" While the excitement could be heard in his tone, his voice was almost a whisper.

"You must've worked hard that morning, to give yourself such a hearty appetite."

Andis didn't reply, he merely nodded his head, and with his brow again furrowing, he repeated, "But I don't 'member nothin' else about that day."

"Ah, but you will, Andis," Elrond said, trying to encourage the boy. "You can see me standing there next to your chair, as you are sitting at the table, do you not?"

Again Andis nodded, not saying anything.

Elrond closed his eyes, dreading what he must do, but do it he must or Andis would never recover. It seemed as if the first session had pushed the boy's horrible memories even deeper into his mind. Elrond would now have to uncover them painstakingly, as one would peel an onion, one layer at a time. And no matter how hysterical the child became today, they would have to continue, or the memories might be truly lost forever, unrecoverable and insidious, always there in the boy's mind and potentially ruining his life.

"Your midday meal is over now," Elrond continued, "and you and your father have gone back outside to work." Elrond went over every detail that Andis had told them the day before, in the previous mind healing session. The only thing he left out was the emotion that Andis had felt toward Jessa, since the boy blamed her for crying and making it necessary for their father to leave the cabin in the first place. Andis' hatred toward his baby sister did not need fuel, and as he spoke, Elrond could see the boy's face contort as he was forced to remember the things he didn't want to even think about. By the time Elrond was finished with everything he knew of that day, he paused, as he re-centered himself, and then he delved deeper into Andis' psyche, looking for the details that Andis knew but did not want to speak of.

Elrond knew that the boy would have to process the memories in order to be free of them, and acknowledging them would work almost as well as actually speaking of them himself. "You stayed inside with your mother and grandmother and sisters, didn't you Andis? Your grandmother took Jessa from your mother, and she was finally successful in getting her to sleep. Ah, I see," Elrond said, glancing at Elrohir, "Your grandmother gave Jessa some tea. I'll bet it was Valerian—for her gums. And that would explain why Jessa slept through everything." Elrond's gaze held his son's for a moment, then he closed his eyes, saying, "But instead of actually putting your baby sister into her cradle, your grandmother placed her into a large basket, which she covered with blankets and wedged between the wall and your parents' bed, is that not right?"

Andis nodded, shaking and trembling so badly that Elrohir had retrieved Jeren's quilt from the end of the bed and had draped it over the child, tucking it around him snugly, hoping he would feel some form of comfort from being surrounded its worn softness. He then gathered the boy into his arms, pulling him onto his lap, so that Andis would feel even more secure. The child was deep in trance at this point, so he did not even acknowledge Elrohir's presence.

Elrond continued telling the story, seeing it in Andis' mind as the child had witnessed it. He could feel the horror and fear Andis had felt at seeing the Orcs fall upon his mother when they succeeded in breaking through the cabin's door. He could feel the boy's terror when he realized that his father had been staked to the ground. He felt terror, yes, but the bigger emotion was outrage—fury that the filthy beings would dare to lay a hand on his father.

The Elf lord remembered his treating of Jeren's mind, and uncovering these very same feelings when she had dealt with the Orcs that had descended upon her. Only with the girl, the outrage and fury had been for herself, not for someone else. She had been deeply offended that the Orcs would have the gall to touch her, much less…

He ripped his thinking from Jeren's attack back to Andis' memories. As he went deeper into someone's mind, his mind could tend to wander. Placing and maintaining someone in trance was physically and emotionally taxing to him, and sometimes, if he wasn't careful, his mind would stray in self-defense; when the situation he was seeing was not only overwhelming to the victim, but was overwhelming to him in the reliving of it. Why he'd had thoughts of Jeren's attack as something to ease his mind while he worked with Andis, he didn't know. It would seem as if the opposite would have been true: that the attack on Jeren would be the last thing he would try and ease his mind with, since in ways, her situation had been so much more fearful—she'd been entirely alone.

Elrond was a warrior trained and proved, but still others' emotion and heartache could bring him to his knees. He had to try and stay focused.

"We can hear your mother screaming, can we not, Andis?" Elrond said, himself with tears in his eyes with the breaking he could feel in the child's heart. He hated doing this so badly, but all that Andis had been aware of during the attack—with any of his senses—had to be addressed. And since Elrond could hear the woman's cries, he knew that Andis had heard them, too. Andis sobbed and nodded his head.

"Papa!" he said, and his voice was still not much above a whisper, but its desperation was very apparent, even though Elrond had been speaking of his mother. It was clear that Andis could not fathom what was happening to the woman, since the Orcs besetting her had taken her to the other side of the cabin, but he could see for himself what was happening to his father. "Leave my Papa alone!"

Elrohir hugged the child closer, trying to comfort Andis, even though the boy seemed oblivious to the younger Elf's presence. Elrohir was able to hold Andis' weak movements easily in check, since it seemed as if the child was dreaming and partway paralyzed, unable to get his arms and legs to do exactly what he wished for them to do. Otherwise he might have been struggling mightily. Since he was also bundled in Jeren's quilt, even if he was successful in full movement, he would not be able to hurt himself at all.

Elrohir was remembering the attack too, thinking about what he'd witnessed, and that had been bad enough. The boy's memories had to be so much worse. He'd been made to watch his father's torture, which had to have been agonizing to him. Seeing his father being shot full of arrows, hearing the man swear and call out in pain every time an arrow hit him in another tender place. No wonder Andis had felt so helpless and had finally run toward his father when his grandmother's hold on him had slipped.

Elrohir remembered when Andis had called out, had said exactly what he'd said just now—"Leave my Papa alone!" It was just prior to the man's beheading, so Elrohir braced himself for the reaction that Andis would have in just a few short moments, when Elrond would lead him through that horrible event. He strengthened his hold on the boy.

"Andis, can you describe what is happening now?" Elrond asked him. The Elf lord did not know whether the child would be able to voice the ultimate demise of his father or not. It didn't really matter, although if Andis could physically speak of it himself, the ultimate outcome of the session would probably be better. There would be time enough for that to happen, though. Unfortunately, this would be only one time of many that they would all have to go through this process.

But Andis was beyond coherence at this point. All he could do was thrash about, swinging his head from side to side, as if he were telling those who were doing this to him, "no, I cannot live through this a second time." Elrond breathed deeply to bolster his flagging spirit and strength.

"You ran to your father, and you startled one of the Orcs. You kicked the beast in the leg! I see you doing it myself!" Elrond had over exaggerated the surprise in his voice, so that Andis would really understand the magnitude of what he had done, being such a small child.

Elrohir frowned at this revelation, but his scowl quickly changed into a small grin. He'd not known that Andis had been able to get any licks in at all on the Orcs, but they'd not been at the best vantage point for seeing that at the time. He'd have to ask Jeren later if she'd seen what the boy had done.

"That was very brave of you, Andis!" Elrond exclaimed. "I am proud that you were able to come to your father's defense in such a way."

"I know!" Andis wailed, his voice finally rising higher in volume. "But it didn' do no good! The other monster… he… he…" Andis' breathing hitched as he tried to voice what had happened to his beloved father.

"I know, child, I know…" Elrond said, his voice dripping in sympathy. "The Orc is now killing your father. But it is not your fault! The Orcs are bent on killing this day. Your father would have been killed, whether you'd run into the fray or not. Do not ever believe that you are responsible for your father's death. It isn't true! You were brave and you defended him! That is what you will remember from now on. Do you understand me?"

Even though Andis did not respond to the question at all, Elrond hoped against hope that planting this seed in the child's wounded mind would someday take root, growing until Andis truly believed that he was not the reason his father was killed.

"I tried to help 'im," Andis sobbed. "I wanted to help 'im get free." The child took big gulps of air between his words. It was a wonder anyone could make sense of what he was saying. "But the monster—the Orc; he… he had a big knife… he…"

"I know, child," Elrond repeated. "I know. I see it as well. It is a horrible sight, but it is the Orc's fault, not yours, that your father was killed with the blade. Orcs are beasts and monsters, and they kill for their pleasure. There was nothing you did that caused this Orc to take your father's life. He'd have done the same had you been there or not."

Andis gradually quieted to the occasional hiccup, and then Elrond said softly, "Andis wake." The boy opened his eyes, blinking them several times, and finally seemed as if he understood where he was and that Elrohir was holding him. He scrubbed at his eyes, but the tears continued. He sobbed again and buried his face in Elrohir's shirt.

Elrohir's arms tightened around the small boy. He thought his heart would break. It was apparent that Andis was no longer blissfully unaware.

He now remembered everything…

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Oh Elladan…" Elen began. She stopped for a moment to dab at her eyes with her hankie. "I don't want my Charlie out of my sight. I cannot explain; other than to say I'm his mother and it goes against every instinct that I possess."

"Then let me appeal to your motherly instinct on behalf of another child," Elladan said, being very careful to keep his tone sympathetic, so that perhaps he could touch her heart even deeper with his plea. "Little Andis no longer has his mother. Jeren tries her best, but she's a poor substitute, wouldn't you agree?"

Their gazes locked for mere seconds, but it was long enough for Elladan to have to make himself stifle a grin. As he'd looked into Elen's eyes, he realized that she found the comparison of Jeren as a mother to almost any other woman about as funny as he did. And, truth be told, he didn't really want to take Charlie to Imladris for Andis' sake—although that would be a side benefit—he was doing it for Elen herself.

Yet he watched Elen's expression go from amusement to crestfallen in mere seconds, as his carefully planned distraction receded from her mind, and a renewed wash of tears began to flow down her cheeks. She nodded, unable to say anything.

_Mothers to be… they wore their emotions on their sleeves…_

"And just imagine it—" Elladan went on. "The poor child with no one but Elrohir to play with? He must be low indeed…"

Elladan wanted to crow with delight when he saw the last of Elen's defenses crumble. "All right, Elladan," Elen said softly. "I do suppose it would be best for all concerned if Charlie went back with you. But if anything happens to my baby outside of my care—well, you'd best not show your face around me for a very long while."

He finally felt able to give her a big smile. "You will not regret it, Elen. And Charlie is going to have the best time! My father will see to that!"

"When are you taking my son from me?" Elen asked, as she dabbed at her eyes again.

From the looks of things, Elladan feared she would have to wring her handkerchief out if she didn't cease crying soon. "I will be leaving with Timm in the morning—"

"—So soon?" Elen wailed.

He tried not to give her a patronizing smile, although he wasn't sure he'd been successful. "We need to get Anders and Mavis' children settled as soon as we might. Do you not agree that would be for the best, Elen?"

She nodded. "Of course. I'm being selfish, I suppose." Elen sniffed noisily, and from the look on her face, Elladan could tell he was in trouble—she seemed to be thinking again. "But my baby… With only the two of you? Out in the wilderness—?" Her voice had risen to almost a shrieking level.

Elladan interrupted her then, before she could begin to whine even louder. "—you did not give me a chance to finish what I was telling you before," he complained softly, hoping her tone would mimic his and recede as well. But he sat forward in his chair and placed a hand on her arm in comfort. He knew she was having a very hard time parting with her last-born son. "Halbarad has gathered a small unit together—"

"—Halbarad? Halbarad himself?" Elen interrupted happily, as if he were the answer to all her prayers.

"Are you going to allow me to finish telling you what I need to tell you? Please?" he asked, his patience wearing thin. He sat back in his chair abruptly. Her up and down emotions, as well as her constant interruptions, were beginning to not only confuse him but anger him, too.

After she closed her mouth and nodded, he continued, "Yes, Halbarad himself will be leading the unit. He's been wanting to speak to Glorfindel about stepping up the rangers' patrols out in the area that Anders' cabin was in, and hearing this news of another family being killed out there, he's decided it is long past the time for him to do this. He thinks we should join our forces—the Imladris Elves and the Dúnedain. And he intends to broach the subject with the Arms Master of Rivendell."

"I think that sounds like a good idea, given that whole families are being massacred," Elen said, finally thinking about something other than her son leaving her arms. "I just hope that Glorfindel agrees."

"I think he will," Elladan said. "He's been too long within the borders of Rivendell. I believe he will lead some of the forays himself."

They were quiet for a few moments, and then Elen gave him a knowing look. "Alright, Elladan. I am calm now," she said, and she did sound more like her old self. "Thank you for taking such an interest in my care. Do not think I am ignorant of why you are doing this. I know you are taking Charlie off my hands because I cannot care for him and James is too busy. I do thank you sincerely for everything you are doing."

Elladan got up from his chair and hugged the woman. "It is purely my pleasure," he said as he straightened up. "I love you, Elen. And do not worry; I will guard your son with my life."

Elen settled back into her pillows, looking exhausted again. "I love you, also, Elladan. Now, leave me be—I fear I just may fall asleep again." She looked at him with mock contempt. "You and your potions! They are made to keep me asleep, aren't they? You conniving Elf…"

He tweaked her blanket-covered toe as he made his way toward the door, but he threw over his shoulder, "How else would I get you to rest?"

He turned to look at her and smiled—which she returned—and then he walked away.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren rinsed the cloth in the bowl that was sitting on the table beside Andis' bed, and then placed it on the boy's forehead again.

"Poor little man…" she said, glancing up at Elrohir, who was sitting on the bed near Andis' head. "He's felt so sick today." It was after evening meal, and Jeren hadn't gone to eat with the others; she'd stayed behind to care for Andis. And she'd also put Jessa to bed for the night.

"Today's healing made his head hurt very badly," Elrohir said, "much more so than the last time. But then, much more was accomplished, too." He returned his wife's gaze, then looked back at the child, running his fingers through Andis' blond hair.

"Why do you not go eat the things I brought back for you?" Elrohir asked. "You must be hungry..." His tone and his raised brows showed that he anticipated a reaction from her, since he always teased her about her hearty appetite.

But Jeren didn't rise to his baiting tonight. "I'm really not very hungry, Elrohir. I just feel so badly for Andis." Again she took the now warm cloth from the boy's head and rinsed it, cooling it some, before replacing it on his warm, dry skin. "He's not been able to eat—even liquids do not stay down. I'm worried about him."

"If it will ease your mind to know this, my father is in exactly the same state that Andis is in. I had to practically carry him down the hall to his bedchamber as soon as I had Andis settled after the session. I might make a suggestion to him that he does this in _his_ bedchamber from now on; it is much easier carrying Andis than it is carrying him!" He still did not get a smile from his wife, so he said, serious again, "This sickness is all brought on because of the stress and trauma of the mind-healing." He looked into her eyes. "You remember how it made you feel, do you not?"

She grimaced and then nodded. "Yes. After the truly rugged sessions, I felt as if I might just welcome death," she replied. "The headache can be very daunting—and sickening."

"Exactly," he replied. "So do not worry overmuch for Andis. From the looks of things, he's in very good hands."

Jeren's smile was a cynical one as she got up from her chair. "I am no mother, Elrohir. And anyone can cool a fevered brow."

"Not everyone cares like you've been caring for him. He's very lucky to have you on his side."

Jeren wanted to tell him—in very firm tones—that she didn't _want_ to feel this way toward the boy, nor his sister! How hard it was going to be if Elladan found relatives of the children at the settlement! But as she dwelled on that thought, she hoped that if their kin could be found, that they be found there. If Andis and Jessa were to be taken away from her, would that it be sooner rather than later.

Elrohir got up from the bed and went to her, embracing her tenderly. As he stood there rubbing her back, he said, "I do not want to give them up, either. I have fought my feelings for the children, but that fight has turned out to be in vain."

Jeren could feel the echoes of his pain in her own heart, through their bond. Her arms tightened around him. _At least they would always have each other…_

"El-ro-heer?" a sleepy Andis groaned.

Elrohir and Jeren went to the ailing child, Jeren sitting in the chair again and Elrohir kneeling on one knee beside the bed.

"What is it, Andis?" Elrohir asked gently. "Do you feel better?"

"I think I do," he said with a grimace. "My head don't hurt so much no more." He yawned hugely and stretched his little arms above his head. "I think I'm hungry…"

Elrohir smiled. "That is good, Andis. I have some bread and meat on a tray on the table over there," he said, pointing it out with his eyes. "Would you like some of that, or would you prefer a little soup from the kitchen?"

"I think soup," Andis said, sounding more alert by the minute.

"I'll go fetch it," Jeren said, her relieved gaze meeting Elrohir's. And she got up promptly to do just that.

Andis was quiet for a few minutes, and Elrohir began thinking about the morning's session. His heart ached every time he thought about the sweet little boy and all the turmoil his mind was in. He wondered if Andis remembered all that had come to light—or if he remembered anything at all, for that matter. After the session ended, Andis had sobbed for the better part of an hour, but no coaxing on the part of Elrohir could get anything coherent out of the boy. And the immediate onset of the headache precluded any further questioning of him. The child had been too sick during the day for Elrohir to even guess at the outcome of all his father's work.

Suddenly, Andis said, "My Mama and Papa are dead, aren't they El-ro-heer?" A tear slipped from the corner of one of the boy's eyes and fell down the side of his face. The child had truly never quit crying all day, whether from the revelations of the morning's session, or from the pain he was in, Elrohir hadn't been able to tell.

The Elf nodded, and said, "Yes, Andis. They are dead. Orcs killed them and it wasn't your fault."

Andis firmed his lips into a stern line, and his eyes darted across the room toward Jessa's bed, where the baby lay sleeping. Elrohir quickly added, "It was _no one's_ fault. If fault is to be found, it would lie strictly at the feet of those wicked Orcs."

Andis' face gradually relaxed and he looked at Elrohir, more tears starting from his eyes. "I miss my Papa, El-ro-heer. He tol' me that he hadda teach me everything he knew. I needed him so that I could grow up good. What am I gonna do now?" He was quiet for several moments and every so often Elrohir would wipe the continuous tears from the boy's cheeks. Finally, Andis asked, "Could you be my Papa in his stead?"

Elrohir bit his lip to keep from blurting out that he would be proud to stand in for Andis' father. But he knew he could not do that—not yet, anyway. If no relatives could be found, then he would certainly volunteer for that duty. But it would falsely raise Andis' hopes if he agreed now, and then had to go back on his promise.

"I would like to Andis," Elrohir said carefully, "but we need to wait before I do that. Elladan has gone searching to see if he can find any aunties or uncles that might want you to live with them. They would be your Mama's or your Papa's brothers or sisters—family. True family, of your own blood. I know that doesn't seem important to you now, but it will be in the years to come. I do promise you, though, that if no relatives can be found, you will stay here, and I will act as your father, if you still want that."

Andis smiled wanly. "I'll still want it, El-ro-heer. And I hope that Ell'dan can't find no rel'tives for me. I don't wanna leave here—never." The child sat up and hugged Elrohir tightly, and Elrohir couldn't help but embrace the boy in return.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Elrohir lay in his bed, watching Jeren sleep. Across the room, the children were in their beds, asleep as well. The curtain wafted slowly back and forth in the evening's slight breeze. It would not be long before the nights would be too cool for the doors to remain open.

He lay on his side, his head propped up on his hand, facing his wife. He watched her as she breathed, the gentle rising and falling of her breast as she slept. He thought she was beautiful, and he would have given much to have been able to make love to her—for hours on end—but that was not possible. Not with the children sleeping in their bedchamber.

Neither of them felt comfortable doing such things with the children present, even though they would be asleep. Jeren had told him that people did it all the time—her own parents had, in fact, when they'd all lived in the little cabin they'd shared as she grew up. Her father was rarely home, that's true, but when he was— She'd told Elrohir that she didn't always remain asleep through the entire process. So even though it was difficult, they settled for holding each other at night, and stole rare opportunities when they could. By necessity their interludes had to be quick—Andis rarely went more than twenty minutes without suddenly missing Elrohir.

He wondered if that would change, now that Andis remembered everything. He thought not, given what the boy had asked him just before Jeren had returned with the soup this evening. Elrohir sighed quietly as he thought about that conversation. He certainly hoped he hadn't done the wrong thing by telling Andis what he had. He would discuss it with his father in the morning.

He often lay like this at night—watching Jeren as she slept. It would probably make her uncomfortable if she knew that he did it. He smiled as he thought about times when she would wake and their eyes would meet. But if he stayed really still, his eyes unblinking and almost holding his breath, she would decide he was walking the dream paths, and she would turn over and go back to sleep without a word. His smile widened.

He closed his eyes and lay on his back, opening them again to stare at the ceiling. He could see the ghostly shadows of the trees reflected there, as their leaves and branches swayed in the lantern light along the walks below, throwing their vague images across the room.

And thus he let his mind go…

Walking the dream paths was a process not unlike daydreaming, but where daydreaming kept things flat and one-dimensional, walking the dream paths brought the dream alive. You could feel sensations—the sun on your face, the breeze in your hair—or in Elrohir's case tonight—his wife kissing him deeply. He felt a little guilty, at taking this pleasure without Jeren's knowledge or consent, but since in reality he never touched her, he didn't see any serious harm. And he never thought of another in this way at all—ever. And he never carried things further than he should, not and risk embarrassment and, therefore, discovery. Doing this could truly leave him frustrated at times, so he didn't indulge in this particular pastime on a regular basis.

Walking the paths wasn't sleeping at all. He was still aware of his surroundings, for the most part. He could choose, at times, to be very aware, or at others—such as when he was at home—to be barely so. It all depended on the circumstances. Elrohir usually chose a state in between. Since he tended to be out in the wild quite a bit, it did not pay to get sloppy in one's resting habits.

But he'd had a very rough few days, with Andis' mind healing sessions. Not physically demanding, but emotionally so. He was tired and edgy, from dealing with the child being sick all day, and also from remembering the heartbreaking way that Andis had cried, sobbing until he could barely breathe, as Elrond had led him through the memory of Anders' death.

Therefore when Elrohir's dream began, he let himself relax, to be carried away completely at first.

_Jeren kissing him and him returning her kiss, then turning her over onto her back. _

_He eased the straps of her nightdress down from her shoulders, kissing her skin wherever his fingers had touched. In very little time he had the nightdress completely gone—it was magical… when one walked the paths, things not possible in the real world were very much attainable._

_She gasped as he trailed his tongue across the sensitive skin along her bottom lip, and then she arched her neck to give his nipping teeth better access to her throat. His lips traced their way down her shoulder to her breast, stopping there to give it special attention. Then he lifted his face back to hers, kissing her long and deep, and as usual, she was fiery in her response._

_He lay himself upon the length of her body, and when they joined, they both paused to catch their breath. She urged him on and he obliged, becoming lost in the sensations…_

_But she was suddenly gone, and when he looked for her, she was on her feet, walking away. He saw her pull the chair toward Jessa's bed—the one that she'd been sitting in earlier—and place it next to where the baby was sleeping. He could hear its legs as they dragged across the carpet. He frowned at this unusual turn. Perhaps he'd thought too much about Jeren's gift for mothering earlier, and it was now affecting this dream he was having. He usually had better control than this…_

_Then she turned to him, and said, "It's all her fault! I hate her!"_ The longer she spoke, the less the voice sounded like hers…

Elrohir sat up in bed, blinking his eyes to clear the last vestiges of the dream from them. And what he saw chilled him to the bone.

Andis was standing on the chair and leaning over Jessa as she slept. He had his wooden sword in his hand, and he was raising it as if to strike his sister dead.

Elrohir reacted quickly, jumping from beneath the covers, crawling clumsily over the mattress of the bed he'd just been resting in, until he gained his feet, and when he reached Andis, he grabbed the toy sword, flinging it away. It crashed against the stone edging around the veranda, where the rails were inset into it with mortar, and it broke into several pieces. He grasped Andis by his upper arms and raised him off the chair, until their eyes met, and then he shouted, "What are you doing?"

Andis looked stunned, and his eyes blinked rapidly, as if he hadn't even been awake at all until Elrohir had yelled at him.

Jeren was startled awake and quickly turned up the lamp beside the bed. She ran to the others instantly, prying a sobbing Andis out of Elrohir's hands. Jessa sat up then and she began to wail, too, so Elrohir picked her up to comfort her. In a very few moments, Elrond was in the room, looking as if he was still not up to being out of bed himself.

"What is all the commotion about?" he asked. "It sounds as if a war has been started in here!"

Darien and Erestor also came in, followed by Naith.

Andis squirmed until Jeren had to let him down, and he ran to the edge of the veranda, where the sword lay broken. He picked up the hilt and gazed at it, and then he turned his accusing eyes on Elrohir.

Elrohir had calmed down quickly, so he handed Jessa off to Jeren and he walked out to where Andis was crouched and squatted beside the boy.

"I am sorry, Andis," Elrohir said. Everyone watching could tell that the Elf was almost beside himself over what he had done.

"You broked it!" Andis said, tears again coursing down his cheeks. "My Papa made this for me, and now it's broked."

Elrohir reached out to the little boy, wanting to hold him, but Andis would not let him. He jerked himself out of Elrohir's grasp and went to Jeren, hiding his face in the skirt of her nightdress. He stood there weeping as if his heart would break, until finally the hilt of the wooden sword slipped out of his hand onto the rug.

Elrohir retrieved all the pieces of the toy sword, hoping against hope that he would be able to repair it, or find someone who could. When he stood, Elrond was beside him.

"Come with me and tell me what happened," the Elf lord said, and then he turned and left, expecting his son to follow him.

Elrohir was torn. He wanted to stay and try to reach Andis, but he felt as if he'd probably do more harm than good at this point. So he followed his father out of the room.

For once Andis did not seem to care that Elrohir had gone, leaving him alone. Instead of trying to follow his 'El-ro-heer', as he always did, he went to his own bed and climbed into it. He turned his back on the room, facing the wall the bed was pushed up against, effectively shutting everyone else out.

"We'll be fine, now," Jeren said to those who had gathered to see what all the fuss had been about. "Please, return to your beds. We are sorry for waking you all."

"It was no bother," Erestor said. Erestor was an Elf of few words, and the words he often spoke sounded terse and irritated, so for him to say such a thing, touched Jeren's heart. "If I can do anything, please, do not hesitate to call me."

Jeren assured him she would call for aid if she needed it, and he left the room with Darien. Naith stayed for a moment, as Jeren sat in the rocking chair to help ease Jessa back to sleep.

"Is there anything I can do?" Naith asked, glancing at the small boy in the bed. "Anything at all?"

Jeren looked at Andis, too, and slowly shook her head. "I don't think there's anything any of us can do tonight, Naith; but thank you for asking."

Naith caressed Jessa's blond curls, and then laid her hand on Jeren's shoulder for a moment. "I am merely a shout away," she said, smiling sadly.

Jeren nodded, and then she continued to rock Jessa until the baby fell asleep again.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Now tell me," Elrond said, his voice still weak from the miserable day he'd suffered through, "what happened?" He was speaking gently, because he could see the stricken look on his son's face. He knew this was about more than just a broken toy sword.

"I cannot believe it, Father," Elrohir said. His eyes were bright with tears that almost looked to be ones of fear. "I think Andis was trying to kill Jessa."

Elrond frowned. "Seriously?"

Elrohir nodded. "I was resting—heavily—though I was not asleep—but my dreams turned chilling and what I thought was Jeren speaking to me, had to have been Andis talking aloud."

"Explain, please," Elrond said, sitting down on the sofa in his own sitting room. Elrohir kept standing, pacing really, as he recounted the dream—well, the relevant parts of it—and when he was finished, he asked, "Things cannot be how I am interpreting them, can they? Please tell me I am wrong about him, Father."

"I think you are wrong, Elrohir," Elrond said. "You say Andis seemed extremely startled when you grabbed the sword? As if he hadn't heard you thrashing about on your bed trying to reach him quickly?"

At Elrohir's nod, Elrond continued, "I believe he was asleep."

"How can one be asleep and carry out all that he accomplished?" Elrohir asked in disbelief. "He dragged the chair over to Jessa's bed and stood on it, and you are saying that he could have done that all while asleep? Is that even possible, Father?"

"It is possible, Elrohir," Elrond said. "Do you not remember Arathorn's penchant for being found in the pantry of a morning?" At his son's nod, he went on, "Most thought he was just a growing boy wanting more than his share of the food. But in reality, he was asleep.

"He came to me after the third time that it happened, and he asked me if I thought him insane. Of course I didn't know what he was speaking of, so when he told me that he'd had no knowledge of how he'd come to be in the pantry—not once but thrice—the only logical explanation was that he'd been asleep when he'd walked in there. Of course after I spoke to him I went to several of his friends, including you and your brother, to make sure none of you were playing pranks on him. I knew he was completely serious with me. We could all tell when he was being less than honest, and this was not one of those times. He was one terrible liar. He sincerely thought he was losing his mind, and he wanted my reassurance that it wasn't so."

Elrond gave Elrohir a knowing look. "I believe the same thing has happened to our Andis. He's been through much, and now his sleeping mind is not allowing him rest, especially as concerns his father's death. I will bet that if he remembers tonight's dream, he will say that the Orcs were attacking, and Jessa would not be quiet. I would stake much on that."

Elrohir sat and placed his elbows on his thighs, and then laid his face in his hands, tired beyond belief. After a few moments he looked at his father again. "What can we do about this? We cannot allow them to continue to sleep in the same room, if Andis is going to attack her, awake or asleep. One of them is going to have to be put in someone else's room."

"Yes," Elrond said. "I completely agree. We cannot take the chance that Jessa will be hurt, intentionally or not." The Elf lord got up from his chair and paced across the room, but turned and then said, "I am not sure Andis will welcome your presence or your comments, at least not yet, so you will not be able to speak to him of his intentions tonight. Perhaps we can have Jeren question him subtly tomorrow, and based on his answers we will know exactly how cautious we must be."

He walked back toward Elrohir, his expression thoughtful. "If we move _him_, he will feel as if he's done something wrong, and that isn't the case. Even if he was awake, this is not his fault. He's ill, that's all."

Elrohir looked sick of a sudden, and Elrond hastily added, "It isn't something that cannot be mended, son. Do not worry about that. I have great confidence that in the end, be it a month from now or a year, Andis will love his sister." He laid his hand along his son's face. "Do not worry over that."

Elrohir allowed his head to fall forward and his hands to dangle between his knees. Glancing back up, he said, "I will try not to, Father." His tone was careworn, but he quickly gained his feet. "I suppose I should go help Jeren; make sure the children are back in bed."

Elrond smiled. "That is a good idea. Do not push Andis to forgive you. Let him take the initiative. And worry not—he _will_ forgive you."

"I am planning on repairing the sword, if it can be fixed. I certainly did my best to keep Jessa safe—I'm not sure there is anything remaining of the weapon that could even give her a splinter at this point."

Elrond smiled again. "Go back to your room and rest. You could use it."

"Look who's talking," Elrohir returned.

As Elrohir went to slip past his father and out the door, Elrond stopped him with a hand on his arm. He simply embraced his son and said, "All will be well, Elrohir. All will be well."

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**A/N: Another delay in posting, but life has a way of throwing us curves sometimes. Thanks in advance for any and all reviews. This chapter was a hard one to write, and it would help me to know if you think I got it right.**


	34. Chapter 34

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

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After Elrohir left his father, he quietly let himself into the sitting room that adjoined his bedchamber. He was still slightly shaken from the scene with Andis, so he sat on the sofa for a moment. Since he was feeling so unsettled, he did not really want to go to bed yet. He had left Andis a very unhappy little boy. Was he awake or was he sleeping? _What would he find when he entered the room? _

Listening closely he could hear nothing coming from inside. Andis was no longer crying; Elrohir could discern no sounds from either of the children, and since they'd both been awake and weeping when he left, he decided they must now be asleep. He glimpsed down at himself as he sat with his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped between them. He had forgotten that he'd not stopped to put on a robe before he'd followed his father out of the room. He was dressed only in his sleeping trousers, his chest and shoulders bare.

He ran his hands over his arms, feeling chilled, but it wasn't any coolness in the room that had his flesh dimpling. He was reliving the shock of being pulled forcefully out of his dream to find Andis standing over Jessa with his toy sword; a toy, yes, but pointed and lethal. If Andis had succeeded in stabbing his sister with it, the consequences would have been dire. If she hadn't been killed outright, she would have at the very least been badly injured. Even though Andis felt as if he hated Jessa right now, when he was older and after he'd recovered, he would regret having done his sister harm. Elrohir let out a shuddering sigh. Thank Ilúvatar he'd come out of the dream in time. _Thank Ilúvatar…_

He finally got up and opened the door, and then silently closed it after himself. The last thing he wanted was for one of the children to wake. They needed their sleep, and truth be told, he simply wasn't up to dealing with either of them any more tonight.

He made his way toward the children's beds. As he stood there looking down on them both, regret washed over him again. He was sure that Andis must hate him. Elrohir remembered the the child's shattered expression when he'd seen the damage to his cherished sword, and he would wager good coin that he was probably not Andis' favorite person anymore. He didn't even know if the boy would allow him near at all.

He thought guiltily about how, at times, he'd resented Andis' clinging. It kept him from doing so many things he not only wanted to do, but things that he was expected to do as a member of Imladris' household. In a way, this was a blessing. He would no longer be held hostage by a child.

He raised his brows as he considered his less than stellar attitude. But then he realized that when he had thoughts like these, and he'd felt put upon, he had always had second thoughts. Just as he was doing now. He knew that the child didn't demand his presence out of some sort of childish spoiling; it was because the boy was ill and needed him. He shook his head slightly as he wondered if all parents had these same sorts of mixed feelings for their children. He figured that they probably did. He thought about some of the things he'd put his parents through when he'd been a child, and he decided that it would be pretty hard not to.

As he neared Andis' bed, he saw that the boy was on his side facing the wall, but he'd relaxed in his sleep and was now slumping toward his back. Elrohir wanted to run his hand over the child's sleeping face, touch his golden hair, which shone pale in the darkness, but he knew that his touch would not be welcome this time. He had a rush of emotion, knowing that the resentment he felt on occasion had always given way to the love that had been steadily growing in his heart for the boy. He truly hoped that Andis would forgive him. He couldn't imagine not being the center of the child's world, seeing the sweet smile aimed at him or hearing the youngster's merry laughter. He covered Andis more securely and then moved away toward Jessa's bed.

The baby was beautiful, there was no doubt about that. He'd not noticed before, but at night Jessa's bed was bathed in light, which was reflected from the lanterns along the walks outside. It was obvious by her contented sleeping that it didn't bother her. Her blond curls shone in a halo around her face, and her rosy mouth, first puckered in her sleep, then relaxed, so that her four little teeth were visible through her lips. He could tell by her fussiness yesterday that she was probably soon to get at least two more. He pulled up the blanket that had fallen aside, resting his hand lightly upon her chest.

"Are you ever coming to bed?" Jeren asked drowsily. Elrohir smiled and turned toward her, climbing onto the mattress in almost the same way he'd left it over an hour ago, though a little more slowly. He scooted under the covers and then he coaxed her toward him.

"Not only am I coming to bed, I'm already here," he said, leisurely kissing her. Her arms circled his neck, pulling him closer.

"It's about time," she replied. She laid her head on his shoulder as she nestled into the crook of his arm.

They were both silent for a while, but Elrohir knew she wasn't sleeping—her breathing had not changed to the slow, regular pattern characteristic of her rest.

"How did things go after I left?" he finally asked quietly.

Jeren leaned away from him slightly, wanting see what she could of his face in the darkness. She felt his sadness through their bond, and she sent a loving wave of warmth to him. "Andis didn't say another word—he just went to his bed and faced away from everyone in the room.

"You remember how he acted the day after the attack at the homestead? You'd told him the night before about the deaths of his family, and then the next day he'd found that portrait of his parents and was hugging it, and had cut his hand on the frame that the Orcs had stepped on and broken. He turned on his side and faced away from us then, too, trying not to acknowledge that we were even there.

"That's just how he acted after you'd left. He seemed to want to shut everyone else out." Jeren stopped speaking for a moment, but then added, "He's remembered everything, hasn't he, Elrohir?"

Elrohir nodded, but realized that she might not be able to see that in the darkness. "Yes," he answered softly.

She gave him a squeeze, and then said, "Anyway, I never heard another peep out of him. I rocked Jessa for only a few minutes, but I fear she's grown used to these sorts of disruptions—it did not take her long to fall back to sleep."

Elrohir hugged Jeren closer, returning the warmth she'd just sent to him. He loved being bonded to her. Over the years that Elrohir had known her, Jeren had seemed very distant at times, hard, unreadable and almost masculine in her manner. He knew that's how others viewed her as well. There had been times when he'd been with the rangers, and she had been out with Joem's patrol, that the talk around the dining hall tables had been brutal. He'd not thought to defend her. He knew she could defend herself, if she so chose. He had merely suggested to the ones complaining that they tell her to her face what they were freely sharing with others behind her back.

Yes he knew her well, and the bond they now shared told him things about her that he'd suspected, but hadn't really understood before. Her heart was soft, although one might never guess that, and it took much for her to lower her guard, but when she allowed herself to love, it was deeply and fully. He thought that perhaps he, too, was sharing things with her through their bond that he was also unaware of. He wasn't keeping such a tight hold on it any longer. If they ever went back out scouting together, he would have to retrain himself to hold it more closely again.

The silence grew and Jeren could tell that Elrohir's mood wasn't improving; if anything he was growing more depressed by the moment. She rose on one elbow to gaze down at him.

"What?" he asked her, though not unkindly.

"I hate to see you so unhappy," she said.

"Well I hate how I handled the situation with Andis tonight."

"What exactly happened, Elrohir?" she asked him.

He closed his eyes and smiled again. "I am sorry, Jeren. Of course you don't know. Sometimes I feel as if our bond enables you to read my mind, but I do know better…" He hugged her again, and then said, "The sessions with Andis have been very trying, and his terror and sadness have been draining on me as I witnessed them. So I was giving in to myself tonight—indulging in walking the dream paths without much awareness of my surroundings. I usually do not allow myself that luxury."

Jeren smiled. "I wish I could understand how Elves rest," she said. "I would think that if you are aware of your surroundings, you can't truly be relaxing enough for it to do you any good."

He chuckled lightly. "Well I am sorry, but this I cannot explain. Just more mystery of the Elves."

Jeren smiled at him. "Go on," she urged. "Tell me what happened."

So he told her how he'd been pulled from his dream, although he did skirt around some of the more intimate details of it to keep himself out of trouble. "And then I thought you were speaking to me, but it must have been Andis talking. He said, 'it's all her fault', and that's what jarred me completely back to reality."

"Why was that significant to you, Elrohir? How did hearing that make you know something was amiss?"

He told her about the sessions, and what Andis had said about hating Jessa. Since the children were always with them, it had been next to impossible to tell her before now. He'd not told her about it in the evenings after the children were abed, because by then it had been something he'd wanted to forget, so he'd allowed it to slip from his mind.

"What did your father say about it all?"

"He thinks, from how I described it to him, that Andis was asleep—was acting out a dream, in a way. And Father has asked a favor of you. Since Andis will more than likely want to have nothing to do with me, he suggests that you try to subtly ask Andis in the morning if he'd had any dreams during the night. If he resists talking about it, you are to tread lightly, but do probe somewhat, unless he becomes agitated or fearful.

"Andis remembers everything now, so if he was dreaming of the attack at the homestead, he might be able to tell you about it. Father really can't even guess at this point. Only watching Andis as the days go by will let us know exactly what is going on in his mind."

"Will you and your father have any more sessions with Andis?" Jeren asked. "Judging from my own experience, I would think there would be many more, but if Andis tried to kill Jessa, because of them, I'm not sure that would be advisable. Do you?"

Elrohir was quick to come to Andis' defense. "I truly don't think that Andis was trying to kill her. I admit, that's how I have been describing it, because that was exactly what it looked like. But deep down, I do agree with Father. I think Andis must have been acting out a dream he was having. Even though he is angry with her, I truly do not believe Andis would harm her intentionally."

He held Jeren more tightly, as another chill made its way down his spine. After a moment he continued. "Originally Father had planned to have as many sessions as it took to cure Andis. I know my father will still have sessions with the boy, but whether they will be of the same type, I do not know. And whether I will be involved? Only Andis can answer that.

"Even though Father believes that Andis was dreaming tonight, and that he wouldn't truly harm Jessa in his waking mind, I will rest lightly for the remainder of the night, and tomorrow we will probably find another place for her to sleep."

"Oh no…" Jeren said. She couldn't keep the disappointment out of her voice. "Do we have to do this? I've enjoyed caring for her so much."

"I know," Elrohir said, giving Jeren a little squeeze. "But we can't take the chance that Jessa could be harmed, whether Andis is conscious of doing it or not. And Father says we cannot move Andis out, because then the boy might feel as if he's done something wrong. And we truly believe he has not."

"Poor Andis. He's so young to have so many things wrong in his life."

Elrohir pulled his arm from beneath Jeren and guided her onto her back. Jeren's brows rose, as if she wondered just what her husband had in mind. But as he smoothed the hair away from her face, he simply said, "The night is old, and you are bound to be very tired. Your sleep has been interrupted several times, and the morning comes early with little ones." He kissed her lips lightly. "You should sleep now. I will be on my guard to make sure nothing happens to Jessa."

Jeren heaved a deep sigh. "I suppose you are right, Elrohir." She reached for him and kissed him deeply, sighing again when their lips parted. "I do miss—being with you." She looked at him with a wan smile, knowing he knew exactly what she was talking about. "But the children are worth it, aren't they?"

He returned her smile. "They are. They truly are."

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"Now Charlie," Elen said, as her hands straightened her son's clothing and smoothed at his hair. "You be good for Elladan and the rest of these rangers. I had better not hear that you did not do exactly as you were told or that you sassed at any of them."

"_Yes_, Mama," Charlie said impatiently from his perch in front of Elladan on the Elf's stallion. The horse was tall enough that Elen could barely reach her son's hair, as she stood on tiptoes trying to slick it down again. _There was one stubborn patch on the back of his head that insisted on sticking up._

"Well you see that you do," she emphasized again, giving his face a loving pat. Then looking up into Elladan's smiling eyes, Elen scowled, but she didn't say anything to him. She glared in turn at each of the rangers who were among the escort. Halbarad bowed his head to her, acknowledging the responsibility she was placing on them, but on him in particular. He shared a smile with Elladan as soon as she turned her attention back to Charlie.

It was early enough in the morning, although the sun had been up for more than an hour, because Elladan wanted to give Elen the peace of mind that her son would not be in peril from Orcs. He was sure that she could think of a dozen different mishaps that might befall them on their way, but Orcs would not be one of them. Thus the later start.

He'd allowed her to see Charlie off this morning, but only if she swore she'd go right back to bed the minute her son was out of her sight. The few short days she'd been in bed had already paid off; she was looking marginally better to him. But he'd made her promise to keep to the regimen he'd prescribed while he was gone, because getting up now or neglecting her diet would only cause her health to decline again.

"Be good, Charlie," James said, emphasizing his words with one of his large hands placed on his son's leg. The horse was so big and the child so small, that his little legs were spread wide, with his feet bouncing with every shift or step the animal made. James smiled. "But more than anything, have a great adventure, son! Have fun, but I will tell you just as your mother has—mind your elders. They know best and will keep you from trouble."

"Yes, Papa," Charlie said, his eagerness for the start of the trip now shining from his eyes. Elladan nodded to James in silent promise that the Man's son would be safe with him.

Charlie's brothers and Jamesica all began waving as soon as Elladan urged his horse forward. The sounds of Elen's weeping were almost drowned out by the chorus of 'goodbyes' and 'farewells'.

As soon as they were through the gates, Charlie asked, "Why does my Mama do that?" He sounded so irritated that Elladan had to stifle a chuckle.

"Do what, Charlie?" Elladan asked as if perplexed, although he already knew the answer to his own question.

"Blubber like that. She cries about _every little thing_."

Elladan couldn't help his quiet laughter over that remark, but he stifled it quickly, and vaguely wondered where the child had learned such a word. He looked down at the boy as he pulled up on Charlie's chin to look into his face. "She does that because she loves you."

"But don't—I mean _doesn't_—she know that I'm big and can take care o' myself?"

"I think that is something that you and I need to talk over," Elladan said with a voice of authority.

At four and a half, Charlie was tall for his age, probably because of James' influence. The Man was over six feet tall himself, and two of his sons had already caught up to him in height. They were sure to be taller than their father before long. Elladan had known this family for quite some time, all the way back to James' great grandsire. They'd all been long and lanky, with not a hint of fat on their bones, with appetites that belied their lack of girth.

With Charlie being the youngest of Elen's five—soon to be six—children, he tended to rebel against 'being the baby', wanting to explore and go off on his own, even when he'd been told not to. The older boys, of course, lorded their vast difference in age over him, constantly telling him he was too young to attempt the pursuits they were interested in. So he took whatever opportunity he could to show them he was just as good at doing things as they were—even though he obviously wasn't.

"You _are_ getting older, Charlie," Elladan began, "but you are still very young and inexperienced. So, as both of your parents have advised you, I, too, am counseling you as well—you must listen to what any of these men tell you, even if you think you might know better yourself. Chances are good that their knowledge exceeds yours, and what you think you know you really do not."

Charlie's face lost the defiance that had begun to creep into his expression as he'd spoken so disdainfully of his mother, and he let his head fall forward, in seeming apology. "Yes, Elladan," he said, his voice momentarily contrite. But he quickly glanced up into the Elf's face, and Elladan could see the impishness there as he finished his answer, "I will listen, even if what they say sounds stupid."

If anyone would venture a guess as to which parent Charlie favored, they would be wrong if they did not choose Elen. Charlie might be tall like his father, but that is where the comparison vanished. From his expressive face to his iron will, Charlie was his mother's son.

Elladan smiled again. "That is good, Charlie, and is the wisest choice."

And with that, Elladan picked up the pace, urging his horse into a canter. He wound his arms around Charlie more tightly, to keep the child's teeth from rattling out of his head, and to keep a grip on the boy so that he wouldn't inadvertently fall off. Elen's wrath was nothing to toy with.

They traveled at this pace for a couple of hours, but soon decided to stop to allow the horses to rest and drink. Elladan handed Charlie down to one of the waiting rangers and then he slid off his horse, too. Elladan couldn't help the quiet laughter as he watched Charlie try to sit down on the bank of the creek where they'd stopped. One could tell that the boy was not used to riding, as he gingerly lowered his rear to the dirt, grimacing all the while.

When Charlie caught Elladan's gaze, and the boy realized he'd been observed, he rolled his eyes and let his head fall back. The Elf sobered quickly, because he knew that this was no laughing matter to Charlie, even as young as he was. He had older brothers who teased him mercilessly, so Charlie would be on alert for anything that might make him seem too young or untried.

Elladan squatted down near Charlie and said, "Worry not—I'll pad the horse's withers before you get back on. I should have thought of it before—I am sorry."

"I should be tougher—I thought that I was." Charlie's face was perplexed, as if he could not figure out what went wrong in his estimation of himself, but that quickly turned into an almost accusing look, which he aimed at the Elf. "And I didn't think this trip would be so hard or boring."

"This is exactly the type of thing I was speaking of before. You thought you knew about going on an adventure, but as it turns out you really do not. There are some exciting new things to see as we go, but there is also endless trail to ride. So keep this pain and boredom in mind, when the temptation to go off on your own gets hard to ignore."

Charlie nodded his head and Elladan got to his feet to take care of Charlie's riding problem. He didn't have a saddle on his mount, but he did have a bedroll tied across his shoulder. He removed that, taking the blanket out of the bundle, and then rolled it up again, intending to put the rest of the gear back on before they resumed riding. He folded the blanket several times, leaving enough for both him and Charlie to sit on. He didn't need it, of course, but, so that it wouldn't slide off the horse with Charlie's minimal weight, he would sit on it, too, to keep it in place. It wouldn't be much help to the child, but it was better than nothing. Elladan smiled as he thought that this would be a good lesson that Charlie could benefit from: He might be on an exciting adventure, but there were bad things to bear along with the good.

They soon were mounted again and on their way. Traveling quickly, the trip to Imladris from the settlement was about five hours in length. They had not been riding at at breakneck speed this morning, but had gone fast enough that they would be in Rivendell before the sun set this evening.

But woe to poor Charlie's rear end! He would need Elrond's expertise—and his herbal remedies—if he wanted to sit down again anytime soon.

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"Wouldn't you like something to eat this morning, Andis?" Jeren asked the child gently. He'd refused to get dressed so far. He just continued to lie in his bed with his back to the room. "You need to eat so that you can grow up to be big and strong."

"I won't need to be big and strong," he answered. His voice sounded as if he were tired—or very, very sad.

Jeren glanced at Elrohir, who was dressing Jessa for the day. He gave her a knowing look, although she certainly didn't understand what Andis had meant, since she'd not been in the room the night before when Andis had asked Elrohir if he'd be a father to him. The boy had said then that without his papa to guide him, he wouldn't be able to 'grow up good'. Since Andis must now feel as if he could no longer trust Elrohir, he probably didn't think he would have a chance to grow up to be much of anything.

"Yes, Andis," Elrohir said, knowing he risked the child's further rejection by trying to speak to him. Andis had been careful to not even look at the Elf this morning, much less talk to him. "You will need to grow big and strong, just as your papa was." Elrohir wasn't sure how far to push the child, but he wanted whatever was gained in yesterday's session not to be lost, simply because of the way he had handled the situation with Andis the night before. That's why he was even mentioning Anders today.

"And even if you no longer want me to guide you, there will be someone who will take the task, and you must prepare yourself to learn all your lessons as you grow into a man."

Jeren had been sitting on the side of Andis' bed, and when he turned over, she got up, helping him out from beneath the linens. He didn't acknowledge what Elrohir had told him, nor did he glance at the Elf, but the fact that he'd moved at all just proved how much he still valued what Elrohir told him.

Jeren helped the boy into his clothes, although Andis truly did not need it. This morning it was Jeren who needed to have him near. She felt so helpless against his sadness, and she somehow wanted to reach him. If merely helping him on with his shoes did that in any way, it would make her very thankful.

With both children dressed, they left the room and made their way down to the dining hall, where Elrond and Glorfindel were already seated. Andis acted as though he saw no one else—he merely climbed into the chair where he always sat.

"Good morning, Andis," Elrond said, holding little hope that the boy would respond. He'd entered the room with eyes downcast and had sat in his chair seeming to notice nothing at all.

But Andis surprised them all by replying, "G'mornin'." But his eyes were dull and his voice flat. That had not changed.

"How are you feeling today?"

"Good," Andis said, and he picked up his fork and began to eat what Elrohir had dished onto his plate.

Elrond glanced first at Elrohir and then at Jeren, showing he had known he was tempting fate by attempting conversation with Andis, but he'd wanted to test the boy's limits himself. After the fear the child had shown toward him the last two days, he was very surprised that Andis had not shrunk away, and had, in fact, answered him at all.

Everyone was quiet for a few minutes as they ate, but then Elrond said plainly, "Elrohir, I believe Calanon would be your best bet in having Andis' sword repaired. He works extensively with wood. I think he will do remarkably well with it."

Everyone glanced furtively at the boy, wanting to see his reaction, but not really wanting him to realize that he was the center of attention. Yet it seemed not to matter, because Andis only continued to eat, not acknowledging the Elf lord's comment at all.

"That's who I was thinking of consulting, Father," Elrohir replied. He took a drink of the tea that was served with the meal, and then added, "He is a master at woodcraft."

The Elves and Jeren were all watching the boy, and none of them missed when Andis' eyes darted quickly toward Elrohir, and then fell back to his plate. He was at least listening to them.

"Andis," Elrond said, "I would check your arm again as soon as the meal is finished. Elrohir will bring you to the Healing Halls for me."

The boy's response was quick and decisive. "No!"

At first Elrond thought that Andis was objecting to seeing him in the Healing Halls, having finally remembered his fear. But while Andis' scowl was in place for a moment, he seemed to have enough healthy respect for the Elf lord, that his expression eased to one of slight trepidation. "I mean, no… sir… Jeren will bring me."

He now knew that it was Elrohir that Andis was objecting to. Elrond was very happy that at least the boy wasn't avoiding him any longer. He felt that he'd not try and change the child's mind about his son as of yet. "That will be fine, if Jeren is amenable."

Andis frowned at the big word, and he looked to Jeren to see if he could tell what she might be thinking.

"I can do that," Jeren said, smiling at the child. "I would be happy to. And after you are finished there, Andis, perhaps you would like to go ride Bunny?"

The child's sadness didn't abate, but he nodded his head without saying a word and turned back to eating the food on his plate. Had Jeren made this suggestion last week, Andis would have been very excited and beaming his pleasure all over the room. It was distressing to everyone to see the child so unhappy.

As soon as the meal was concluded, Elrond rose and went directly to the Healing Halls. He knew it would take Jeren and Elrohir a few minutes to wipe down the children's hands and faces, cleaning away the jam that inevitably smeared onto little cheeks. Andis ate the slices of bread with jam that were much bigger than he could 'cleanly' handle. And Jessa's jam and bread, with her not being old enough to eat large pieces, was torn into smaller bits that she could feed to herself. _Very messy indeed._

So the Elf lord was ready when Jeren brought Andis into the Healing Halls. Elrond marveled that Andis had seemingly forgiven him for putting him through the mind healing sessions. For the two days prior, the child had been both frightened and angry when anywhere near him, and he could only wonder what had changed so profoundly. Andis was acting as a normal grieving child at this point, not as if he were the frightened and clinging boy that had taken over Elrohir's life for a time. Elrond would not have expected this behavior until many sessions had been accomplished.

It was for this reason that the Elf lord had insisted on an examination this morning. Elrond had no reason to look at Andis' arm any more. It had healed nicely with a minimal scar at the site of the wound. No, Elrond needed to probe this child's conscious mind, and since Andis seemed to be speaking to him again, as well as allowing him close, this was an opportune time to do it.

He patted the bed he was standing next to and Jeren lifted the boy up onto the mattress. Elrond removed Andis' shirt, so that he could pretend to examine the child's arm. He peered at the limb for a few moments, and then began to flex the arm, first at the wrist, then at the elbow and finally at the shoulder. He stood back and nodded to Jeren, and she helped Andis put his shirt back on.

"Your arm is well. In fact, it has grown much stronger," he said. "Do you hurt anywhere else, Andis? Perhaps your head still aches?"

Although it took him a moment to answer, he finally said, "No, my head don't hurt." The tone of Andis' voice continued to be dull and listless.

"That is good," Elrond said, sounding like a proficient healer. "Well then, what about your sleeping? Did you sleep well?"

"I guess so…" Andis said uncertainly.

Elrond couldn't understand the turnaround in Andis' behavior toward him, so he said, his voice kind, "A few days ago you were afraid of me, child. What made you change your mind?"

Andis thought about that for a moment, and then he said, "I dunno. I was just scared when I saw you. I don't know why. But today, you're just my friend again." He stopped speaking for a moment, and then looked up at the Elf lord, his eyes concerned. "Aren't you?"

Elrond smiled broadly at the boy, "I certainly am! I am just glad at this turn of events, whatever might have caused them."

Elrond knew that, before the last session, Andis did not fully remember the day that his family was killed. But his unconscious mind knew that Elrond was going to push him to remember, and thus the avoidance. Once the boy's mind was opened, and he remembered everything, there was no longer any reason to fear him.

Elrond hated to push this sad child any further into depression, but he needed to determine a few things, in order to know how to proceed with him. So, with his voice gentle, he said,"I heard Elrohir speak harshly to you last night. Do you remember that?"

Andis' lower lip quivered and he nodded his head, but his eyes had grown cold. _His anger dwelled deep._

"Do you know why he did that?" Elrond asked.

Andis didn't reply, he just shook his head in a negative way.

"I will let my son explain himself to you and make his own amends, but I am sure he regrets sounding angry."

The Elf lord hoped the child wouldn't grow frustrated with all the questions he'd been asking, but he knew of no other way to gather the information he sought. He'd thought to have Jeren make these inquiries covertly this morning, but when Andis showed signs that he was no longer afraid of him, he couldn't resist finding out on his own.

"Did you have any dreams last night?" Elrond asked him outright. He knew it was risky to be so direct, but if he wanted to cut down the amount of questions he was asking, he'd have to be terse.

Andis sighed deeply, then closed his eyes and lowered his face. His answer was a whispered, "Yes…"

Elrond placed his fingers on the child's chin, raising his head so that he could see the boy's eyes. "What did you dream about?"

Elrond's tone had changed to the lilt so characteristic of Elves. The gentleness of it calmed one's spirit, even as one listened to it.

"I—" Andis started, then paused, but started again, "dreamed 'bout—the monsters… Orcs, as you call 'em. And of my Papa." The boy's lips then thinned to a line.

"Anything else?" Elrond probed.

"—I dream'd 'bout my stupid sister…" His lips were now bowed in a definite frown.

Elrond nodded his head, but released Andis' chin. His suspicions had been confirmed. The child had been dreaming when he tried to attack Jessa.

"Do you wish to speak of it?" Elrond asked quietly.

Andis shook his head.

Elrond thought quickly about how to proceed. He didn't want to give up on this yet. He had Andis talking, and he knew that eventually he would be speaking on this subject extensively with the boy. Sessions of this sort would be the only way the child was ever going to get over his anger at his sister.

"Are you certain?" he asked, hoping against hope that another shake of the boy's head would not be his only answer.

Andis sat there still as a stone for so long that Elrond feared his quest had failed, but then the boy hesitantly looked into Elrond's eyes and asked, "What do I say?"

"Whatever you would want to say. I will listen to anything that is on your mind."

Andis sat there with his head bowed for several more minutes, and just as Elrond was about to give this opportunity up for lost, a tear rolled out of one of the boy's eyes. "I— miss my Mama and Papa," he said, rubbing a fist over the wetness on his cheek. "—and my Sissy and Gran." His other hand joined the first, wiping at the tears that were now falling freely. The hesitance in his voice was then overtaken by a rush of words: "I wish I was home with them and not here at all! I wish I didn' know none of you people!" He sniffed and rubbed at his nose. "I wanna be workin' with my Papa, like I used to. I wish I was home!"

The boy sobbed then and Elrond picked him up from the bed and held him close, walking with him toward the door that led out onto the veranda. _ Such a stoic little man…_

"I know you do, Andis. Would that I could grant your wish..." He opened the door and went outside, and Jeren followed, wiping a tear from her face as she trailed after them.

Elrond let the boy cry, hoping it would ease his heart, but knowing it would take much time for him to get any relief from this sort of pain. Losing one's entire family was a terrible blow, especially for a small child, whose whole life had been held in his parents' hands. No one would be able to recover from an experience such as this very quickly. Again he was amazed at the child. How did two mind healing sessions work this wonder? He knew that all minds were different and healed in their own time, not by some schedule of sessions, but still… _as ill as the boy had been?_

But he did not deceive himself into thinking that the child was completely without mental scars. Last night's episode was proof of that. He was now acting out dreams, and that was sure to be from emotion that had been too long buried. But if he was right, and Andis was no longer in the throes of delusion, then his anger with Jessa would abate with time. They would still have to be watched closely while they were together, because Andis was still very angry with her. Being a child, he was unable to think of consequences that might occur from his actions, and he could hurt Jessa badly—as had almost happened last night—without really meaning to do her great harm. When he'd called Jessa his 'stupid sister' earlier, his angry eyes had told the story.

Elrond wanted to shake his head in bafflement, but he only kept holding the child. It was strange the way things seemed to work out at times. Everything had come to a climax last night. Elrohir had surely overreacted, but the timing could not have been more perfect, since it was apparent that Andis no longer needed him in the same way that he had before. Even had Andis not grown angry with his son, Elrond suspected that he would have nevertheless begun withdrawing from Elrohir. Perhaps he had even started that process before Elrohir had interrupted Andis' dream.

Andis clung to the Elf lord, his arms encircling Elrond's neck, his eyes buried in his shoulder. Elrond rested his face against the boy's tawny head, murmuring soft Elvish phrases to him as he rubbed his back.

Jeren thought her heart would melt. She'd been on the receiving end of Elrond's comfort before, and she could attest it was potent indeed.

Elf and child stayed that way for a very long while, with Andis weeping and Elrond consoling him. Before long, Andis grew quiet. His head was no longer on the Elf lord's shoulder—he'd slumped down, curling into a ball, so that now his ear was pressed to Elrond's chest, his head just under Elrond"s chin. The Elf lord slowly stroked the boy's cheek with his fingers.

Andis heaved a big sigh and Elrond took his cue from that. He shifted the boy in his arms so that the child was facing him, and Elrond drew Andis back some, so that he could almost rest his forehead against the child's.

"I am sorry things seem bleak right now, Andis," he said softly. "I don't expect you to truly understand this, but it is true—with time you will feel better. These thoughts and feelings will no longer be so raw. It may not seem possible right now, but I do promise you that you will not always feel this way."

The child responded by throwing his arms around Elrond's neck, hugging him tightly. "I didn' mean to say I don' like it here…"

Elrond chuckled, although he thought his heart might break in half. As sad as this boy was, he also knew that he had nowhere else to go. "Do not be afraid, child. I did not take offense. You may stay here for as long as you wish. And if you do not like it here, that is certainly your right. But if you do, that would make me very happy. That is what I want—for you to be happy again."

Jeren then took the initiative and placed her hand upon Andis' back, leaning in close so that she could speak softly to him.

"Are you too tired to go say hello to Bunny?" she asked him. After she'd spoken he'd raised his head from the pillow of Elrond's shoulder.

She knew that Elrond had done all that he could at this point, and that perhaps some time with the pony out in the fresh air would do the boy good.

Andis nodded and then began squirming slightly, as if he wanted down. Elrond placed the boy's feet on the floor and smiled at Jeren, approving of her idea.

"I think Bunny maybe needs me today," Andis said, his voice still sad. He didn't smile, but his eyes seemed a little less dull. He then took Jeren's hand and began leading her toward the door, back through the room in the Healing Halls.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Now give Bunny two little kicks and see if she goes."

Jeren and Andis were outside in one of the paddocks near the stables, having gone there after leaving Elrond in the Healing Halls, with Andis in Bunny's saddle and Jeren standing beside them. So far in her training of Andis, Jeren had led the small horse by a lead rope at all times. Bunny was of course already broken and was good at following commands. Today Jeren wanted very badly to help Andis in some little way; to make him just a little bit happy, so she decided to see if both Andis and Bunny might be ready to go it alone.

Andis barely nudged the pony with his heals, and Bunny did not understand that she was supposed to proceed. So Jeren tried again. "A little bit harder, Andis; you won't hurt her. This is how she understands commands."

So Andis kicked again, this time hard enough, and Bunny began to slowly walk. Jeren was right there beside them, so there was no chance that anything would go wrong. Andis looked at Jeren and smiled. It had been at least two days since anyone had seen the boy happy at all.

"Very good, Andis," she said, smiling widely at him. "Now remember what I told you about turning? You touch Bunny's neck with the rein, pulling in the direction you would like to turn, and she will do so."

Andis nodded, so Jeren said, "I want you to try that now."

So Andis tested this lesson out as well. He gently touched the left side of Bunny's neck with the reins. Again it was too subtle for the pony to detect, so Jeren advised him to put a little more muscle into it. Andis did as he was told, and Bunny responded, making a fine right turn.

Andis smiled again, accompanied by a little chuckle. "She did it!" he said. "She knows!"

"She's very smart," Jeren answered, "just like her master."

Andis' brows knit together. "Are you talkin' bout me, Jeren? I'm Bunny's mas-ter?"

"You are, Andis, and as her master, it is important to be very kind to her. When she does well, you should praise her."

The boy looked at Jeren again, a little puzzled. "What do I say?" he asked.

"If _you_ did a good thing, what would you like? Mayhap a pat on the back and a 'good boy, Andis'?" At the child's quick smile, Jeren said, "Well do the same thing for Bunny."

Andis leaned toward the pony's head and said, "That was real good, Bunny." And he offered her a nice pat on the side of her neck.

Seeming to understand exactly what the child had said, Bunny tossed her head, as if she were agreeing with him. Jeren and Andis both laughed then. After a dozen more turns—both to the right and the left—Jeren then told Andis to make Bunny stop.

"Just pull back on the reins, Andis," she said, "and Bunny will come to a halt."

So Andis did as she told him, but Bunny didn't stop. This time, though, without further instruction, Andis simply pulled back harder, and Bunny stopped right then. The boy turned his smiling face back to Jeren.

"She did it!" Then leaning toward the pony's head again, Andis said, "Good girl, Bunny! I love you…"

Jeren wanted to weep at the child's sweetness, but instead she said, "I think it's time to let Bunny rest now. Let's go take the tack off of her and rub her down." Andis started to lean over toward Jeren, so that she could take him down from the pony's back, but she said, "Why do you not ride her into the stable and we'll get you down then?"

Andis beamed again, and Jeren's heart soared with the knowledge that at least he'd been happy for a short time. Even when he lapsed right back into grieving again, she knew that he'd laughed today. It somehow made her feel better.

As soon as they'd gotten into the barn and had led Bunny into a stall, Jeren helped Andis off of the pony. Getting a step stool, she placed it to the side. She showed Andis the cinch buckle and asked him to try and see if he could get it undone, so Andis went to work on it. Since the straps on a saddle are pulled tight to keep it from slipping or falling off, he was putting his all into the task.

He paused for a moment to catch his breath, and then said, "I used to try to undo the harness off Betsie, when my Papa would get 'er to pull things," Andis said. "I never could do it, but maybe I can do this." He tried again and Jeren watched him closely, her fingers itching to help him, but she knew that he wanted to accomplish this on his own. The strap inched slowly toward unbuckling, and then would slip back, over and over. He finally stopped, mopping his brow with his sleeve. He didn't look sad, exactly; his expression was somewhat between frustrated and sorry that he'd not been able to do as she'd asked.

"That's all right, Andis," Jeren said. "I think this is a task that you will have to grow into. I just wanted to give you a chance to see if you could accomplish it now. It's very important that we always see to our mounts after we ride, before we do anything else. She uncinched the saddle and hefted it to one of the sides of the stall, setting it on top of the wooden rail.

"Let's take her bridle off, now. I know you can undo _these_ buckles, Andis. There's one under Bunny's jaw." Jeren pointed to it and Andis undid the buckle in no time, his pride shining through at being able to accomplish something she'd asked him to do. She pulled the stool over and told the boy to climb onto it. "You are almost tall enough to reach this one," Jeren said, "but not quite." She pointed to the throat latch. "This is the next one to undo." Andis did as she asked, and then looked at her expectantly, waiting for further instruction.

Jeren grabbed Bunny's halter off a nail on the side of the stall, in readiness to put it on when the bridle came off. "Now pull the bridle down over Bunny's ears and hold onto the straps as you ease the bit from her mouth."

Again, Andis did exactly what she'd told him to do, and as soon as the bit had cleared Bunny's teeth, he looked up at Jeren triumphantly. She smiled widely at him.

"Very good, Andis. You have now taken the tack off of your horse. Next, we need to rub her down."

"What does that mean?" Andis asked.

Since they'd gotten Bunny, and Andis had begun riding lessons, Elrohir usually took the boy back to the house while Jeren took care of the pony. But with Andis angry with Elrohir today, he hadn't accompanied them outside at all, so the two of them were taking care of Bunny together. She thought it was time that Andis understood that riding wasn't simply a pleasure. He needed to know that responsibility went along with the enjoyment, that there was work to be done so that the animal stayed healthy and happy. Jeren truly didn't know where Elrohir had gotten to this morning, but she was sure that he wasn't content—she could feel it through their bond.

"That means," she said, "that we must brush the dirt and sweat from Bunny's coat after we're finished riding." She found brushes for both of them and continued. "Every horseman must do this after he's ridden, even if he's ridden for only a short time. It keeps the horse's skin in top condition; otherwise, it'll get irritated and sores may form." She wrinkled her nose at the idea of allowing a horse to get in such a condition. Andis wrinkled his, too.

She showed Andis how to brush the pony, and then the two of them set to work. In no time they had Bunny's coat slick and gleaming. Jeren went to the oat bin and grabbed a scoop.

"Here, Andis. Fill this with oats and then put it into the trough in Bunny's stall."

The boy did as she told him to, and then returned the scoop to the bin.

"We must do this every time we ride Bunny," she said, "and on the days you do not ride, it is still a good idea to come see her and pat her and give her some oats or other treats. Horses love apples and apples are very good for them. Oh, and be sure she always has fresh water."

She turned toward the door and led the way outside. It was almost time for the noon meal, so they walked slowly toward the house.

"The Elves in the stable will always take very good care of your horse. But if she's truly yours, and you are truly her master, it is your responsibility to make sure that she's comfortable and well. You're still a little young for all these tasks, so for now, except for the brushing down after riding, we'll leave the other things to the stable hands. All right?"

Andis nodded his head, and when he looked up at Jeren, she was very happy to see that his eyes were still clear and attuned to her. He'd not yet turned inward in his grief.

Hating to chase the happiness away, she wanted to talk to the child about Elrohir, and why the Elf had done what he had the night before. She'd been wondering the entire morning if it would be a good idea, but she knew that Andis had not forgotten about it, he'd just been preoccupied with Bunny and riding for a while. It would have to be addressed sooner or later, so she decided to plunge right in.

"Andis," she said, placing a hand on one of his shoulders. "I want to talk to you about Elrohir."

Immediately she could see the hurt and anger in the child's eyes.

"Do I have to?" he asked sullenly.

"Yes, Andis," she replied. "Please. It is important to me."

His eyes fell to his feet. "All right." It was hard to tell which emotion Andis was feeling; anger or hurt...

She took him to a low bench beside one of the corrals and sat down, patting the seat beside her, inviting him to sit as well.

"Last night, Elrohir raised his voice to you because he was afraid."

"El-ro-heer was afraid?" Andis asked skeptically, his face doubtful. "He's too big to get afraid!" His voice had taken on an angry note.

"Something you will learn as you get older is that no one is too big to be afraid," she replied seriously. "Elrohir was frightened for you and Jessa last night. I don't know why—and it doesn't matter now—but you had gotten onto one of the chairs and you were standing there with your sword. I don't know precisely what woke Elrohir up, but when he saw you there, he was so frightened that he jumped up and grabbed you. Your sword is very pointy and he was afraid you might fall and the sword would hurt not only you, but mayhap Jessa, too. And in his excitement, he spoke a little loudly. He didn't mean to, Andis. He was merely afraid, that's all."

Andis looked toward some horses in a field a little bit away from them. Jeren guided his face back toward hers. "He really loves you, Andis. He only ever wants to do what is right for you."

Andis turned his angry eyes to hers. "Well it wasn't right to get my Papa's sword broked," Andis said indignantly.

"If you could gaze into Elrohir's heart, you would see a sad Elf today. He truly regrets that he broke your Papa's sword. He wouldn't ever purposely hurt anyone, Andis, least of all you."

Andis continued to look at Jeren, but his expression didn't change, nor did he say anything else. She heaved a sigh. "Will you at least think about what I have told you? And then mayhap, in a day or two, you might forgive him? I think you would feel better if you did. And I know that he would, that's for sure."

Andis nodded and got up from the bench, holding his hand out to her. She was thankful that he hadn't decided she was a turncoat, for seeming to take Elrohir's side in this. She took his hand and together they strode up the path to the house.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The sun was setting by the time the rangers and Elladan rode up the cobbled path that led to the back of the house of Elrond. There had been no fanfare and no one waiting to greet them upon their arrival. The border guard always met travelers after they crossed the river, and the one who went ahead to herald their arrival, went with a request from Elladan that no fuss be made.

Charlie was limp in Elladan's arms, having fallen asleep about an hour before, and he didn't want to have to wake him up in order to go through formalities, it being so late in the afternoon. Timm was a ranger, so he expected no special welcome. Being greeted by a legendary Elf might have been fun for Charlie in another circumstance, but the trip had been rugged for the boy, and the child's bobbing head certainly reflected that.

Timm and the rest of the rangers would bunk in the barracks with the Imladris force, so Elladan carried Charlie inside the house, taking him to the Healing Halls. He knew what to use on a rear end that had been tortured by too much riding, and he wanted to give Charlie an abbreviated sponge bath besides. He knew the child would sleep better if he had most of the grime from the trail washed away. They could do the finer points of grooming tomorrow, bathing him in an actual tub and washing his hair as well.

Since the border guard always informed the Lord of Imladris of any visitors, Elrond had been notified of his son's impending arrival. He'd left the door to his office ajar so that he would know exactly when they'd come inside. As soon as he heard the footfalls of his son, he got up and waited for Elladan in the hall.

"You have brought us another visitor," Elrond said in surprise as soon as he saw him. Since Elladan had made a point that no fuss be made, evidently the border guard simply hadn't told the Elf lord that one of those arriving was a Human child.

"Yes," Elladan said, turning toward the Healing Halls. "I will tell you about it as I get this youngster ready for sleep."

As soon as they pushed through the double doors, Elladan laid Charlie onto one of the first waiting beds, and then began stripping off his clothing.

"This child seems dead to the world, son," Elrond said frowning with concern. He lifted an arm and let it fall where it would. "Is he well?"

Elladan smiled. "Yes, he's well; he's simply exhausted. He hasn't been on a trip of this length before. Oh, and Father, would you fetch some of your liniment? His backside is bound to be chafed and bruised from riding all day."

Elrond went to a nearby cabinet and found what he was looking for, and as soon as Elladan had the child's clothes off, and Charlie sponged a little cleaner, together they applied the fragrant balm to the skin of Charlie's inflamed buttocks and legs.

"I found the children's uncle," Elladan said, glancing at his father. "A man named Timm."

"Indeed," Elrond replied, his voice even, but the slight drawing together of his brows told of his concern.

"Yes, and he's returned with me, to see the children and take them back, if that is what you deem is the best solution, especially where Andis is concerned. I explained about the boy's attachment to Elrohir, and I told Timm that you might not advise him taking the children away at this time."

Elrond didn't reply, but he gave his son a penetrating look. Elladan was obvious in his wish to keep Jessa here longer. Without saying anything else, he helped Elladan turn Charlie onto his back, and then assisted him in dressing the boy in a small sleeping shirt that Andis had worn when he'd been in the Healing Halls.

"He hasn't made a sound or moved of his own accord," Elrond said in growing concern. "Are you certain he is fine?" As he peered at the boy he added, "And who is he? He seems familiar to me, though I know I've never met him before."

"He is Elen's youngest," Elladan said.

"Ah yes," Elrond replied. "I see her mark all over his face."

"Wait until he speaks," Elladan said dryly. "You will hear her attitude come straight from his lips."

The father looked at the son and both smiled. "I will look forward to it."

"Be careful what you wish for, Father…" Elladan said with a smirk.

"Ma-ma…" Charlie mumbled. "I'mmm hunn-gry…"

Elladan lifted the boy into his arms, cradling him as he would a baby. Charlie's legs dangled in the air, but the child was so asleep, they hung lifelessly over the Elf's arm.

"We are going to put you to bed now, Charlie," Elladan said. "In the morning we'll give you a great big breakfast."

"Y… You're… not… my Mama," he said, his brow puckering. The child was so sleepy, his one word slurred into another, or he stopped momentarily between one until he was awake enough to form another.

"Shhh, now," Elladan said softly. "I'll soon have you in a nice, soft bed where you can sleep like a baby."

"I'm… not… a… baby…" Charlie managed to say before he completely lost consciousness again.

"Where should I put him, Father?" Elladan asked. "He could sleep with me for tonight, I suppose, though I might live to regret that decision, if he's a heavy sleeper who kicks or flails his arms."

Elrond grinned. "No need for that. As a matter of fact, this will help out a little situation we have been struggling with today; one that we hadn't found a suitable answer for as of yet."

As they made their way through the halls of Imladris, Elrond explained all that had happened with Andis in the few days that Elladan had been gone. He was just finishing with the details when they arrived at their destination. Elrond knocked briefly on Elrohir's sitting room door, and they both heard when Jeren told them to enter.

Jeren was on the floor leaning against the sofa, with Jessa sitting on one side of her and Andis on the other, showing them pictures from a book that she'd found in the library. She was being extremely careful with it, since it was obviously very old, and she didn't want the children to damage it inadvertently. All three of them looked up when the door opened.

Jessa's smile lit up her face when she saw Elladan there. Even though Elladan scoffed at the idea, Jeren secretly thought that the baby couldn't tell the twins apart, because she greeted Elrohir with the same exuberance that she did Elladan. Jessa pulled away from Jeren and toddled over to Elladan, locking her arms around his knees. Since he still held Charlie in his arms, all he could do was greet her quietly.

Jeren rose from the floor and picked Jessa up in her arms, and it was then that she saw who Elladan held.

"Charlie!" she said quietly." Her face suddenly clouded with fear. "Oh no; what's Charlie doing here? Is Elen all right?"

After Elladan had assured her that Elen was fine, Elrond then asked, "May we put Charlie in the bed that Jessa has been sleeping in? And then we'll find another small bed for Jessa, and she can stay in Elladan's room for a time."

"I suppose that is for the best," Jeren said with a wan smile. "It'll be nice to have Charlie with us, though. How long will he be staying?"

"Probably not very long," Elladan said, as he gently put Charlie into the little bed. He covered him with the sheet and blanket, patting his chest to settle him down. Charlie opened his eyes briefly when his back hit the mattress, but with the soothing words and pats, he was soon dead to the world again.

Elladan immediately turned and held his hands out toward Jessa, and the baby leaned toward him with her arms extended. Jeren smiled, relinquishing her hold on the girl, and then she looked around for Andis. Thinking about the book she'd carelessly left on the floor, she hurried into the sitting room, hoping that nothing would be amiss. But all she found was the boy sitting on the floor, turning the pages of the book and looking at the pictures by himself. He'd not missed her at all.

It was almost time for their evening meal, so Jeren bent down and gently closed the book. "Let's wash up, Andis."

Elladan came out of the bedchamber holding Jessa, and Andis glanced up at the two of them as they entered the sitting room.

"Andis," Elladan said in greeting, as he leaned down to set Jessa back on the floor. "It is good to see you. I hope you are well."

"I'm good," was all the reply that Andis could seem to muster. He got up from the floor and followed Jeren back into the inner room, where she helped him wash his hands and face at the bowl in the bathing chamber.

Elladan raised his brows at his father. "You are right—he isn't the same happy child he was before. I wonder how he will react when he finds Timm is here and might be taking him away."

"Right now," Elrond said, "I'm not sure Andis would mind at all. He cares about precious little at the moment—he's too deep in mourning for his family. But about Timm taking them back, that is something we must all discuss—including Timm. I think I can still do more for Andis' state of mind, so I'd hate for him to leave here prematurely. And since Andis almost hurt Jessa last night, we must no longer take any chances with her safety, so it almost might be better if Timm took Jessa back with him and left Andis here. It is something I will ponder more before I bring it up to him, but my heart seems to be leading me there."

Elladan didn't say anything, but anyone observing him at this moment, would know that his heart was troubled.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**A/N: **Special thanks to all the reviewers: Missing a Muse, Sarifina85, Glory Bee, faye50free, Longstrider, Sarafina85, yuemoon, heavenslilagl420, Southern Pride, American Pride, Duck, Nell, dr3, Shycoyotegirl, Song in the Woods, Livia09, Sadie Sil, Brandibuckeye, Lady Anne, Teacalm, and Elfinabottle. **  
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	35. Chapter 35

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren had gone with Elladan and Elrond, taking both children to the dining hall for their evening meal. Elrohir was already there, so they sat together, as they usually did. The Elf pulled out Andis' chair, to make it easier for the boy to be seated, but when Elrohir tried to take Andis' arm to help him up, the child jerked away from him. Elrohir then gave up on the idea, and Andis had seated himself. Jeren felt her husband's sadness through their bond, and she was silently mournful that Andis had not taken her earlier words to heart.

Elladan told them all about Elen and her failing health, and how he'd brought Charlie back to Imladris to give Elen and James a respite from the precocious child's care. No one mentioned Timm or his relationship to the children, not wanting to broach the subject in front of Andis, and definitely not until all the adults had had a chance to confer.

"So I put Elen to bed and told her to stay there. Of course doses of Valerian will persuade her as I never could." Everyone laughed, since they each knew Elen. Getting her to do something that was not her idea in the first place was almost always impossible. That Elladan had resorted to using calming herbs hadn't surprised anyone.

"Another child…" Elrohir mused. "Where are they going to put another one in that tiny cabin?"

Elrond smiled. "Humans are a very tenacious people. Where there is a will there is a way. Where there is need, an answer will be discovered."

"Perhaps they will add another room onto their present abode?" Glorfindel asked. "Or else build an entirely new house?"

"I caught James examining the premises with a speculative eye," Elladan said. "I think this very subject was on his mind."

Jeren stole a look at Andis from time to time during Elladan's explanation, but couldn't tell if the boy was listening to the talk or not. She hadn't thought he'd noticed Charlie at all, when Elladan had brought him into their rooms earlier. He'd been engrossed in the book they'd been sharing, and now he seemed lost in his own world, too, as he silently ate his food.

Directly after the meal was finished, Andis asked Elladan if he would like to go out to the stables to see Bunny. After his initial shock of being invited, of course Elladan couldn't decline the invitation from the still-grieving child. Before Elladan had left for the settlement, Andis had been cordial to him, but the child's attention had been solely for Elrohir. Not so, now. Elladan could feel his brother's regret through their bond; he could tell that the child's defection was hurting his twin deeply, but at the same time, he could feel the gentle urging that Elrohir was sending to him, as if his brother were asking him not to refuse the child's request. So he'd gathered up Jessa and the three of them had gone to the stables. The others had retired to Elrond's study, where they sat in the comfortable chairs by the fireplace.

"What do you propose to be done about the children, Father?" Elrohir asked. "This man Timm is here to take them back to the settlement. Isn't it too soon for Andis to leave?"

It was easy for all to hear the tension in the younger Elf's voice. Elrohir wasn't trying to mask the fact that the children's departure was not high on his list of priorities.

Elrond sat in one of the armchairs across from the sofa where Elrohir and Jeren were seated. Glorfindel was in the other chair beside Elrond, and he'd leaned forward when Elrohir had posed the question. Elrond opened his mouth to reply, but before he could even make a sound, Glorfindel spoke.

"He seems better to me, Elrohir. Sadder, that is true, but more rational and not so dependent on you."

Elrohir huffed out a sarcastic laugh. "I'll say he isn't dependent on me anymore."

"But that is good, is it not?" Glorfindel asked. "The sooner the children are placed with their aunt and uncle, the sooner the two of you can get back to the job you signed on for." The ancient Elf lord looked pointedly at both Jeren and Elrohir.

"Are you finding our absence that trying for you, _Glor?"_ Elrohir asked, his face hard and his voice sharp with sarcasm.

"Elrohir!" The look that Elrond gave his son spoke volumes. He really didn't need to say anything else. Jeren squeezed her husband's hand in silent support.

"My apologies, _Lord_ Glorfindel," Elrohir said in a falsely formal tone. "But I was asking my father for his opinion as the boy's healer." He paused before what he said next, although none could tell if it was because of the words he was considering saying, or because he wanted them to truly register on the one they were intended for. "I really wasn't asking for your opinion at all."

Elrond closed his eyes and shook his head slightly, as if wondering to himself how he'd been so blessed as to have such sharp-tongued sons. In the past, it had always been Elladan he'd had to call to task for speaking out of turn. "I'll not tolerate disrespect from you, Elrohir," the Elf lord said quietly, "neither toward me nor toward any of your elders."

Elrohir sighed and paused for a moment, looking properly chastised then. "I am sorry, Father. Truly, I am." As he spoke, he looked at each of the Elf lords in turn, making it known that he was sincere. "Now would you please answer my question?"

Elrond knew that Elrohir had been suffering ever since last night, when he'd found Andis poised above Jessa, about to use his sword on her. The boy had completely rejected Elrohir, and Elrond could tell that it was taking its toll on him, so he swallowed any other chastisements he might have had reason to make to his son.

"I wish to speak to Timm before making any decisions, Elrohir," Elrond said. "Elladan has told me that the man and his wife want both of the children, but they are agreeable to Andis staying here longer if I think that is what should be done." He looked at his son closely then. "Much will depend on Andis, and his reaction to his uncle, when he learns of him. Yet I don't think it would be the wisest thing to make any significant changes in the child's life at this point, such as uprooting him. He is so newly from the sessions where he remembered his father's slaughter. And he may yet do more acting out of dreams. That wouldn't do in a family with other children, and amongst those who, for the most part, would be unprepared for the experience."

"What does there being other children there have to do with anything, Elrond?" Glorfindel asked. "You do not think that Andis would attack any of them, surely?"

Elrond frowned. "Certainly not. But when a child is troubled, the last thing that would be good for him would be ridicule for being 'different'. Children can be mightily cruel to each other, Glorfindel."

"Alas, that is true of adults, too," he replied with a small smile and an ironic look in Elrohir's direction. Elrohir smiled at the gentle rebuke, happy that Glorfindel had not taken offense at his earlier outburst.

Everyone glanced up when the study door opened and Elladan came in carrying Jessa, with Andis walking beside them. Jessa was fussing, both of her fists jammed into her mouth as far as she could get them. She stopped chewing on them abruptly, when she'd accidentally bitten herself. Her face crumpled and she broke into heartbreaking sobs.

Elladan pulled her head against his shoulder. "Poor little sweetheart," he said. "Teething is the worst, is it not?" He began slightly rocking her in his arms, nestling her head against his face.

Elrohir and Jeren got up from their seats. "I think it's time that we get these children to bed," Jeren said. She stopped in front of Elladan, reaching out and running a hand over the baby's silken hair. "Good night, sweet girl," she said. Elladan leaned toward her somewhat, allowing Jeren to place a kiss on Jessa's moist brow, feverish from the teething she was enduring.

"I'll take good care of her," Elladan said, and Jeren could tell that he wasn't gloating this time. He loved the baby, and he could empathize with anyone else who did as well. Too soon Jessa would no longer be living in Imladris with them.

Jeren and Elrohir then took Andis back to their suite for the night. Elladan had gone to his room with Jessa in his arms, and Jeren couldn't believe the ache in her heart when she'd kissed the baby goodnight for the final time this evening and had watched him carry her away. She didn't want to dwell on just how difficult it would be, when she had to watch Timm ride away with the children, taking them to the settlement to live with his family there.

Shaking her head, Jeren dispelled the gloom that she could so easily have fallen into with such thoughts. She turned to look as Elrohir tried to help Andis change into his night shirt, but the boy was having none of it.

"Are you never going to forgive me, Andis?" Elrohir asked him solemnly.

The boy just turned away, pulling the nightshirt from the Elf's grasp and offering it to Jeren, so that she could help him with it. As soon as he was ready for sleeping, Jeren took him by the hand to get him into bed.

"Who's that?" Andis asked, pointing to where Charlie lay asleep. Elrohir and Jeren glanced at each other, mostly because Andis hadn't asked where Jessa had gone.

"That's Charlie," Elrohir said.

Acting as if he'd not even heard the Elf speak, he tugged on Jeren's hand until she crouched beside him. "Who _is_ that?" he asked again, more quietly this time.

"As Elrohir told you, that is Charlie."

"Why's he here?" Andis' brows had drawn together, and Jeren thought she might be seeing the slightest bit of jealousy on Andis' face. It was now apparent that the boy hadn't been listening at all during their evening meal, when Elladan had explained Charlie's presence to everyone there.

"His mother—who happens to be my aunt—is sick, and she cannot care for him right now. He has three big brothers and a sister, but they are too busy to play with him. Elladan brought him here so that we could see after him." With her voice taking on a conspiratorial note, she added, "Will you help us?"

"How could I help?"

Jeren smiled, certain she was seeing a small bit of resentment toward the newcomer in Andis' eyes. She was fairly sure that Andis was worried—that this usurper may take his place in the household.

"You could be his friend, Andis," she said.

Jeren suddenly realized that Andis had probably never had a friend, just as she never had, when she was a child. His homestead had been in a fairly desolate place, with no other children for leagues around. Andis' only friend had been his Papa. His Sissy had been much older than he was—and a girl, besides—and Jessa was only a baby—and also of the female persuasion. This would be a wonderful opportunity for Andis to experience friendship with someone of his own age. _If he only decided to cooperate._

Andis looked at Jeren, his eyes skeptical. He didn't commit to helping, one way or another, but he did climb into his bed, the one next to Charlie's.

Jeren tucked him in. "Good night, Andis."

"G'night." The boy then looked at Elrohir longingly for a few seconds, but both Jeren and Elrohir could see as he made up his mind to be angry still, effectively closing him off from the Elf again. He turned his back to them, and they heard nothing else from him for the rest of the night.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Come in," Elrond said, as he opened his study door wider to admit the man standing there. Timm walked across the threshold, and the Elf lord directed him to one of the chairs in front of his desk. The early morning sun was just peeking over the eastern horizon, throwing yellow shafts of light across the room.

As soon as Timm and Elrond were both seated, Elrond said, "Welcome to Rivendell. I trust the accommodations in the barracks were comfortable?"

"Indeed," Timm replied. Then getting right to the point, Timm asked, "When would it be possible for me to see my brother's children, Sir?"

"Please, no formality," the Elf said. "And you may see them whenever you wish, but I would suggest that it might be a little early now; probably as soon as they have been fed their morning meal would be a good time. Especially for Andis. He needs all the nourishment he can get."

"Is he still poorly?" Timm asked in concern.

"Not physically," Elrond said. "But I believe a healthy diet keeps one's mind functioning in a prime fashion, just as it does one's body."

"Indeed," Timm repeated.

"How much did Elladan tell you about Andis?" Elrond asked, leaning back in his chair.

"He told me that the boy saw my brother cut down by Orcs. That he was actually sprayed with Anders' blood; watched his head roll." A shudder worked its way through Timm's body, at the distressing thoughts of his sibling's death. "That would be enough to unhinge the mind of a grown man, much less that of a boy as small as Andis is."

"That is true," Elrond said. "Yet Andis seems to be doing remarkably well now."

"Elladan mentioned that you healed minds," Timm said solemnly, as if the idea of such a thing might leave him unsettled. "I take it that since you say the boy seems better, that you've—seen to him?"

Elrond nodded. "Yes, "I've 'seen' to him a couple of times, and he has made some improvement. But I fear he still has a way to go before he's as well as he could be."

"What about his attachment to your other son—Elrohir, is it? What sort of trouble would it stir in Andis' mind, should I take him away now, when he seems so dependent on him?"

"We had an incident here the other night," Elrond began, rising from his chair. He walked to the window behind his desk. Turning to face the man, he continued, "Andis has begun to act out dreams involving the Orc attack." He explained about the sessions he'd had with Andis and everything that the boy had revealed, as well as everything about the incident where Elrohir found Andis standing over Jessa with the toy sword. And how now, as a result, Andis was no longer attached to Elrohir at all.

"So it wouldn't matter if I were to take Andis and Jessa both back to the settlement with me?" Timm asked hopefully. It seemed as if the man was eager to get the situation under control and have the family settled together as soon as possible. Elrond thought that was completely understandable, but probably very shortsighted.

"I didn't say that," Elrond admitted. "Andis still has much anger toward his sister, and, justified or not, he holds her ultimately responsible for their father's death. As I hinted at before, but will say plainly now, I think he still needs his mind delved into, and since I know of no one else able to do that, other than me, I believe he would benefit from staying here a while longer."

"So you are advising me against taking the boy now?" Timm asked tentatively. "I truly only want to do what is best for all concerned, Lord Elrond. But I do feel the need to get this done as quickly as possible, so that all of us—but especially Andis and Jessa—can settle in. They need a feel for normal living back in their lives. But I will heed your advice, whatever it might be."

He glanced at Elrond tentatively after saying that. He didn't want to insult the Elf lord, but surely Lord Elrond knew that the Dúnedain lived in a vastly different manner than the Elves here in Rivendell did. Their lives were simple, without the richness that the Elves seemed to take for granted.

"I believe it would be best for you to take Jessa now, painful though it will be for us here to see her go," Elrond replied. "As you say, our lives are vastly different, and it would be better for her to settle with your family while she is still young and pliable. And she needs to be safe, and I am hesitant to say that that is possible here, with Andis acting out dreams right now."

"Has he done it again?" Timm asked.

"Not as of yet," Elrond said, "but the probability is very high that he will."

"What about Charlie, then?" Timm asked, concerned. "Should we perhaps take him back with us, too? This development hadn't occurred when Elladan made these arrangements with Elen and James."

"I think there is no danger to him from Andis, Timm," Elrond said. "The mind is a very curious thing, and even asleep, I believe Andis would be able to tell the difference between the two children. Even if not, Elrohir keeps both eyes open during the night, and he will be alert for any trouble that might brew."

Timm looked doubtfully at Elrond then, but didn't reply to that. He seemed to gather his thoughts again, before he said, "Then it is settled. I will take Jessa back with me as soon as Halbarad has finished his business with Glorfindel. That would meet with your approval?"

"Yes," Elrond said solemnly.

"I don't know if you can tell me with much accuracy, but what about the boy?" Timm asked. "How much time do you think to need, to... straighten his thinking, for lack of a better phrasing?"

"Give me a month," Elrond replied. "That should be plenty of time for me to try and repair what is amiss in the child's mind."

With that Timm got up from his chair, and bowing, excused himself, walking out the door and closing it quietly behind him.

Elrond turned back to the window he stood before, and looked out at the expanse of the valley. On very clear days, such as this one was shaping up to be, an Elf could see the Bruinen, if he knew exactly where to look. The sun was fully above the eastern cliffs now, and Elrond thought of the beauty of his surroundings. It had always been thus, and probably ever would be. He closed his eyes, feeling the rays of the sun caress his face, and his thoughts wandered back to the two children, whose lives had unexpectedly fallen into his hands. He felt that he'd done the right thing, but he couldn't help the soreness in his heart from having made this decision. He knew it would be best for Andis to stay. But he also knew that Jessa's absence would cut a wound here in Imladris, deeply felt by many.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"I need the pot, Elladan," Charlie whispered into Elrohir's ear urgently, apparently unaware of his mistake in identities. Of course Elrohir had known that the child was stirring, and he'd quickly closed his eyes at Charlie's approach. He'd wanted to see how the boy would react to waking up in a strange environment. He hadn't really known what Charlie would do; pretend to sleep until someone else was awake, cry from fear—although he'd doubted that completely—or perhaps leave the room altogether? But before Elrohir could move at all to help Charlie, Jeren pushed herself up on one elbow, her hair disheveled and her face imprinted with wrinkles from the bed linen.

"Charlie!"— "Jeren!" they said together.

Instead of going around the bed, Charlie heaved himself up onto the mattress, climbing over Elrohir—placing a boney knee directly into the Elf's gut, causing him to grunt in a very un-elf-like fashion. The child fell into Jeren's arms, and they hugged each other tightly.

"I didn' know you'd be here!" Charlie said loudly, as he sat down in the bed between Jeren and Elrohir.

"Well here I am!" Jeren replied. "I'm so happy to see you!"

Suddenly remembering why he'd wandered over to the bed in the first place, Charlie grabbed his crotch and whispered, "I need the pot, Cousin…"

So Jeren whisked him up out of the bed, groaning with the effort. Charlie was much heavier than Andis was—must have been his added height. She took him into the bathing room, leaving Elrohir laughing in their wake.

Andis sat up then, rubbing his eyes. It was a little earlier than they usually rose, so he was still pretty sleepy. He looked at Elrohir for several seconds, and then lay back down, staring at the ceiling.

Elrohir got up and dressed himself for the day, wondering what Andis was thinking about. Did he resent Charlie's presence? Or was he simply curious about this new boy that was visiting here?

He then stood and stared at Andis lying in his bed, but as soon as Andis had become aware of the Elf's attention, he'd closed his eyes again. Elrohir heaved a deep sigh and walked over to Andis' bed, sitting on the side of it.

"Andis…" He said softly. "I know you're awake."

The boy didn't move, nor did he open his eyes. Elrohir wouldn't be daunted this time, however.

"Andis…"

He still got no response. He then uttered a phrase in Elvish, and he watched as the child frowned—still keeping his eyes closed—apparently wondering just what Elrohir had said.

"I have no other ways to apologize," Elrohir added. "I do know Rohirric and Dwarvish and Quenya—that's another Elven language—but I doubt you could understand any of them either. I just want you to know that I am deeply sorry for everything. For yelling at you; for breaking your Papa's sword. That was inexcusable, and I am profoundly sorry for doing it. It was accidental, though that does not excuse my mistake. I have taken the pieces to an Elf named Calanon. He works extensively with wood, and he told me he was confident that he could fix it. It will never be perfect again, but it will be close."

Andis awarded Elrohir with opening his eyes. "You hollered at me," he said sternly, his brows drawn together in an angry frown.

"I was afraid that something bad was going to happen to you or your sister, and the first thing I thought of to say was exactly the wrong thing. I am sorry I 'hollered'. Will you forgive me?"

Andis looked long at the Elf, but then his face softened just the smallest bit. "I'll think about it, but I don't know..."

"That is all I can ask, Andis. I miss being with you and being your friend."

Andis nodded, but then Jeren and Charlie came out of the bathing room. Jeren found the pack that Elladan had left for the boy the night before and rummaged through it looking for something for Charlie to wear.

"I should have taken these clothes out of here last night," she said, berating herself for the sloppiness that Charlie's clothes would now exhibit. "Mayhap I should take them downstairs and have Juliel press them." She held up the badly wrinkled leggings and shirts.

"Aw, that's all right!" Charlie said brightly, snatching for the leggings that Jeren held high, just out of his reach. "My Mama don't—I mean doesn't—care if I get wrinkles."

Somehow Jeren doubted that, but it was almost time for morning meal, so she helped Charlie dress in the least offensive set of clothing he had. The rest she bundled up, to take with them when they went downstairs to the dining hall. Elrohir had found some clothes for Andis, but hadn't tried to help him with them, probably not wanting to press their freshly made semi-truce. So Jeren helped Andis get started putting his clothes on. When he was almost ready, she then gathered her things and went back into the bathing chamber to dress.

Charlie smiled impishly at Elrohir for a moment, and Elrohir crouched down beside him.

"I thought you were Elladan," Charlie admitted, grinning wider.

"I know," Elrohir said, tickling him slightly before hugging the boy to his chest.

Elrohir then stood, taking Charlie by the hand and leading him over to where Andis was standing. "Charlie, this is Andis. Andis, Charlie."

The two boys sized each other up for a few seconds, and then Charlie's smile beamed. "I'm taller than you!" he said proudly, holding his hand flat, palm down, near his forehead and measuring Andis' deficit. Amongst his brothers, Charlie was indeed the shortest, so this seemed a very gratifying moment for him.

Andis was less than thrilled with this new boy and his pronouncement, and the look he gave Elrohir spoke of his doubt. The Elf could tell that Andis wasn't entirely sure what the other boy was even doing here, or what it proclaimed for Andis' status in the Last Homely House.

Jeren emerged from the bathing room then, and the four of them went downstairs to the dining hall. Elrohir and the boys waited outside the laundry as Jeren made the short side trip, delivering the remainder of Charlie's clothing for pressing.

As everyone settled at the table to break their fasts, Elrond waited for Elladan to arrive, so that he could introduce him to Charlie. They'd agreed beforehand to make the introduction as formal as possible, even though they were sitting down to a meal, and Elrond was waiting to play his role.

Elladan met Jeren and Elrohir, along with the boys, at the doorway, and as soon as he'd handed Jessa off to Jeren, he took Charlie by the hand, and brought him to stand beside Elrond. He made a show of straightening the boy's shirt and slicking down the wayward cowlick on the back of his head. As soon as Charlie was ready, Elladan began the introduction.

"Charlie," he said, "I introduce you to The Lord Elrond, master of all who reside in Rivendell. He is the one who makes all decisions, as well as calls down any punishments on the simple and the mighty as well."

Elrond had to consciously keep himself from smiling. He wanted to roll his eyes at his son's antics, but decided that occasionally being lighthearted was a virtue in this day and time.

"Welcome to Rivendell, Charlie," Elrond said in his most formal tone. "I hope you slept well?"

Without missing a beat, the boy smiled and said, "Hello, my lord! Pleasant day, ain't—I mean isn't—it?"

Elrond couldn't help the barely stifled laughter, when Charlie had not been the least bit daunted by Elladan's show. This child was his mother made over. Confident and boisterous defined them both.

"Why do you not go be seated next to Andis, Charlie?" Elrond said. The boy fairly bounced over to the chair and sat down. But instead of just forging on with eating, it looked as if he'd remembered some of his mother's advice about minding elders, since he looked around to make sure others were starting their meal before he picked up his fork.

After only a few minutes had gone by, the talk at the table turned to the warriors of the Imladris force using a different wood in a few of their bows. Ebony was a very hard wood, but if kept oiled, seemed to make a fine bow. Not everyone liked it, because it required getting used to. It took extensive effort to bend the extremely hard wood as the bow was drawn, but the end result was worth it—arrows flew faster and more powerfully, and even slightly straighter. Elladan, Jeren and Elrohir were deep in the discussion with Glorfindel, and Elrond was listening attentively.

While the adults were thusly occupied, Charlie poked Andis in the ribs with his elbow, trying to get the other boy's attention, but Andis' brows drew together.

"Why'd you hit me?" Andis whispered, knowing enough that he shouldn't call this boy out, when it might get Charlie into trouble. He was a lot bigger, so Andis didn't want to make him angry.

Charlie looked around the table, making sure the adults were still distracted with their conversation. Then with his fork he prodded at something he found on his plate. "What is this?" he asked Andis quietly.

Andis remembered being confused by this slice of meat also, when he'd first come to Imladris. He'd actually refused to eat it, until someone had asked him if he didn't like sausage. Of course he liked sausage! Everyone did! But he'd never had sausage shaped like that before. He'd always had links cut up into small pieces, but what he'd encountered was a much wider round disk of meat. The Elves had explained, as much as they could to a young boy, how the sausage was made using intestine from large deer rather than swine. It had helped that Andis had seen his father and mother do this at their homestead, when they'd slaughtered a pig.

"It's sausage," Andis whispered back.

"You fib!" Charlie said in a hiss, mimicking his older brothers. "It can't be sausage! It's the wrong shape."

"Just taste it," Andis insisted. "You will see."

Charlie stabbed the slice of sausage and brought it up to his mouth, taking a small nibble. His eyes lit up then, as he realized that Andis had not been jesting; not like his brothers would have done.

Charlie looked at Andis, his smile widening even further. "Thanks, Andi," he said.

"I'm Andis," the boy corrected almost angrily, but his expression changed after a moment, as if he'd remembered something important. He smiled tentatively and added, "But I guess you can call me Andi."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

All the talk about bows during the morning meal had Jeren thinking about her lagging warrior's skills. She had been so engrossed in caring for the children that she'd hardly even thought about her weapons at all. Her mind had been on teething and Andis' nightmares, not on sword fighting or archery. After everything she'd been through with her injury almost a year ago, trying so hard to get her arm and hand to work, she was again afraid she could not even wield a sword anymore. It had literally been a couple of months since she'd even thought about her weapons. So as they moved away from the table, she placed her hand on her husband's arm and said, "Spar with me, Elrohir."

"I would, Jeren," he said, "but I have some correspondence I must see to. You know how much l _love_ returning missives—" He'd said that with so much sarcasm on his face that Jeren had to smile. "—I'd much rather be sparring with you. Perhaps this afternoon?"

Glorfindel had been walking behind them, and just as Jeren was about to voice her disappointment, he said, "Meet me in the training yard in a quarter hour." That's all he said, and then he strode away without a backward glance or another word.

Glorfindel... _Oh no…_

She knew he would give no quarter. She was now a member of the Imladris force—a scout—and her skills were supposed to be of the highest precision without question at any given time. As she thought about this, she could feel her tension mount, but just as quickly she tamped it down. None of that mattered. She would receive bumps and bruises and strains trying to keep the Elf lord from embarrassing her too badly, but she would be wielding a weapon!

She looked entreatingly at Elladan and he smiled and said, "I will look after this brood of children. We may even come watch."

"Thanks, Brother," she said excitedly. She hadn't known just how much she'd missed acting as a warrior should, with a weapon almost always close at hand. She dashed up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

She made it to her room in mere seconds, and she threw open her wardrobe, removing a set of her training clothes. She stripped off the things she'd been wearing and started to put the other ones on. As she worked at the ties on the leggings, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her eyes were drawn to her right arm, where an Orc had nearly taken it off. The thin, red scar ran almost the entire circumference of her limb, and as she looked at it in the mirror, her fingers traced the slightly raised line.

She had almost forgotten, but now she remembered… Her fear that she would be a burden on Elen's family; that she would never be able to wield her weapons again. That no one would love her enough to make allowances for her affliction.

But Elrohir had… Elrohir loved her. And he'd saved her. Again…

It had always been Elrohir…

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Tighten your stance!" Glorfindel roared. "Keep your arm up!"

Jeren was sweating and dirty from sparring with the Arms Master, and barely able to catch her breath, but she wasn't about to give in. She'd been through these sorts of drills hundreds of times, she just lamented that she was still in need of such discipline at her age and level of experience. After almost an hour of sparring, she'd found herself in the dirt more times than she'd hoped, but as the bout had gone on, she realized her skills were improving. She could tell that her bad arm would be swollen and painful tonight, but there was nothing for it. She was a warrior once more.

She wondered how this could be—wanting to be sharp at her weapons again and at the same time lamenting the impending loss of the children. The two thoughts were very conflicting. She had been so consumed with their care, that the idea of losing Andis and Jessa was always in the back of her mind. Glorfindel had been right earlier. She hadn't been giving her commitment to the Imladris force the attention it deserved. She'd given an oath, after all. And now she was torn, knowing that Timm was here to take the children back with him, and also feeling the surge of elation at having the sword in her grip. Fighting and using her skills—although rusty—was causing her spirit to soar, as it hadn't in what seemed a very long while.

_Not since the children had been found, and she'd become lost in her love for them…_

There would be much to ponder…

And with that thought, she got a mighty whack from the flat of Glorfindel's sword across the side of her right hip. She gasped and looked up, luckily finding that the Arms Master was allowing her to regroup. She gathered herself, trying to ignore the sting of the blow, and began sparring again with her entire focus on Glorfindel.

Just as she thought she might die from all the exertion, Glorfindel called a halt to the bout.

"You are sloppy and undisciplined! A disgrace to your oath."

"Yes, Arms Master," she gasped out, hoping that wasn't all that he had to say.

"With a little more work, you _might_ pass as a warrior for the Imladris force again."

Jeren tried not to smile, but wasn't successful. "Yes, Arms Master."

"Again; now," he said, as he readied his stance.

Jeren wanted to weep. She was no Elf, with seemingly limitless energy. But she would do this and endure, even if she failed to meet Glorfindel's expectations in the end. She'd always wanted to be a warrior, and she could not let the dream go now, especially not when the children's departure was imminent. She was afraid their leaving would cleave a ragged hole in her heart that nothing could fill, but if she had her weapons and the oath to the Imladris force—perhaps she could weather the worst of the storm.

She readied her stance and withstood Glorfindel's first mighty blow, parrying and feinting when she could. When she found herself backed up almost to the fence, she gathered what gumption she had left and went on the attack, having literally nothing else to lose. She hacked and clanked her blade against the Arms Master's. At first she thought she was going to have to give up and die right there on the spot, because her energy was failing her, but at just the last moment, Glorfindel backed up one small step.

"You can take 'im, Cousin!"

Jeren felt rather than saw the momentary hesitation in the Arms Master's fight, when they both heard the childish voice calling out his support. She didn't know when Elladan had brought the children to the training yard, but it was apparent that they now had an audience.

As if to prove the child wrong, Glorfindel then stepped up his assault, and Jeren found herself back against the fence. She was trying to stay focused, but she could hear Charlie's plaintive, "Let me go! He's going to hurt her!" as he struggled to get out of Elladan's grip.

Glorfindel then called another halt, and she could see as he turned away that he was trying to keep a smile from breaking out on his lips. After only a few seconds, he turned back, bowing his head to her then, and saying, "We will continue tomorrow. At the same time."

His attention then went to the children behind the fence, where Elladan was now relaxing his hold on Charlie. "You," Glorfindel said, pointing his long sword at the boy. "Come here." And then he pointed the sword downward so that its tip rested right in front of his feet.

Jeren kept her face without expression, not knowing exactly what Glorfindel was going to say or do next. She was hoping that the Arms Master would not be too harsh with her little cousin, but she knew that discipline came at many times in one's life, in many different forms. The other two children stood where they were, Andis peering between the two top fence rails, and Jessa's bright eyes looking between the two bottom ones.

Elladan lifted the boy over the fence, setting him on his feet in the dirt inside. Not seeming worried at all, Charlie walked directly to where Glorfindel had indicated, stopping right in front of the Elf lord. Glorfindel gazed down on the child, looking as though he might stir some intimidation in the lad. But after only a few moments, the Arms Master said, "Would you like to learn the sword, young man?"

"Ye—"

"No speaking until I have given you leave to do so."

Charlie stood silent, his eyes alight with happiness over the prospect of doing something he'd never been allowed to do before. Finally, Glorfindel said, "You may speak."

"Yes, my lord!" he said excitedly. "When—"

"You are to direct no questions at me, young man," Glorfindel said. "_I_ ask the questions. Do you understand?"

Charlie didn't say another word; he just nodded his head, trying his best to contain his enthusiasm. Glorfindel turned him around then, ushering him back toward the fence.

As soon as he'd handed Charlie back over to Elladan, Glorfindel asked, "How about you, Andis?" His voice had sounded just the slightest bit less stern. "Would you like to learn the sword as well?"

Andis didn't say a word, but his eyes were gleaming with excitement, and he was almost trembling trying to keep himself still. After just a few seconds, Glorfindel said, "I give you permission to speak."

"Yes, Arms Mas-ter," Andis answered, then he looked up at Jeren, about as pleased as she'd ever seen him. Jeren laughed, proud that he'd been watching and listening and learning; he'd followed the rules without even being told.

"Tomorrow we begin," he told the boys. "You will report here with Jeren after morning meal, and you will start learning the exercises that are needed in order to complete all the movements used in swordplay." Both children nodded solemnly, but didn't utter a sound. "Dismissed," the Elf lord finished. He went into the Armory then, and Charlie began to jump up and down with excitement.

"Jeren! Jeren!" Charlie cried, as he grabbed her hand, all the while continuing to bounce. "Did you hear?" He stopped his jumping, and in a voice filled with awe he said, "That big, scary Elf is gonna teach us the sword!" His voice was full of amazement at the wonderful turn of events, and it made Jeren want to laugh. She heard Elladan stifle a snort, but they both restrained themselves from laughing outright. The boys had to be proud to have the legendary Glorfindel even give them the time of day, much less promise to teach them something.

"I did hear him, Charlie," she answered enthusiastically. "What do you think about it, Andis?"

"I've been wantin' to learn to fight with a big knife," Andis said. "One day I'm gonna learn some Orcs not to kill people at all!"

"It's a _sword_," Charlie said emphatically, and quite a bit haughtily, "not a big knife, silly." He'd been too long tormented by his older siblings, and it seemed he'd learned the craft well from them. He was apparently more interested in being precise than in what Andis had really been saying.

"Whatever you call it," Andis replied, "that's what I wanna do."

"And it sounds as if you are going to do just that," Elladan said, as he picked Jessa up, and with Jeren and the children, began walking back toward the house.

Jeren had almost forgotten just how tired she was, but as her breathing eased and the sweat dried, it all came rushing back. Her shoulders ached, but mostly it was her arm that was sore. She had half a notion to ask Elrohir to take her back to that Valar-forsaken ice-cold pond that he'd dumped her into several months ago, when she'd overexerted her arm then, and give it a nice long soak this afternoon. At the very least, she knew that Elrond would place a nice, cool poultice on it before she retired for the night.

As they drew closer to the house, they saw Elrohir walking toward them along with someone else. Jeren hadn't met Timm yet, but Elladan looked as if he recognized the man right away. Andis stopped in his tracks, his jaw dropping open, and then he began to run toward the two. Jeren thought it was because he must've finally forgiven Elrohir, but the boy didn't run to the Elf—he ran straight into the arms of the man.

Timm had gone to one knee, not really knowing what to make of this child, who was hugging him fiercely, when they'd never even set eyes on each other before. Suddenly Andis stood up straight, and his smile was ecstatic, but as he continued to look into Timm's face, the sparkle in his eyes faded and he backed up a few steps.

"You're not my Papa," Andis said, frowning. "I thought you were my Papa." His voice sounded as if he were about to be ill. "I thought that somehow… That he wasn't dead. Maybe someone had been able to put his head back on his neck." The boy sniffed, unable to stop the tears that were now coursing down his cheeks, although he was wiping at them with his fists. "You even sound as he did. But you're not him. You're not…" By the time the child had finished speaking, he was standing there crying as silently as he could, shaking his head in disbelief.

Elrohir picked Andis up then, holding him close, but at the same time, trying not to make much of the boy's mistake.

And Andis did not fight him at all. He clung to Elrohir as if his very life depended on it.

"It's all right, Andis," Elrohir said softly. "No, your Papa's not alive. No one was able to save him. This is your uncle—your father's brother. You remember the portrait we showed you? He is the man in that picture."

Andis nodded his head, but he didn't lift it from Elrohir's shoulder at first. Timm came closer, standing at Elrohir's side, so that he could perhaps see the boy's face.

"I'm your Uncle Timm, child," he said. "You are my nephew. It is pleased I am to meet you…"

Andis raised his head then, looking at the man. "You look an awful lot like my Papa did…"

"I know, child," he said with a small smile. "Lots of people thought so. And both Anders and I looked like our Papa did, too." Tentatively, Timm held his arms open to the boy.

Andis looked at Elrohir for a moment, his eyes sad, but, as if making up his mind about something he truly didn't understand, he leaned toward Timm, accepting his embrace.

Timm nodded to Elrohir and turned back toward the house, holding his nephew with the boy's head resting against his shoulder. He walked slowly and spoke to Andis in a quiet voice. Every now and again, those standing there watching, could see the boy nod his blond head.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**A/N: Thanks again for any and all reviews. They really help me keep going, and Lord knows, this story keeps going and going! I never expected it to be 20 chapters long, much less 35 and more! Special thanks to Sadie, for helping me work out a few kinks in this chapter. Your help is always valuable and appreciated.  
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	36. Chapter 36

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"And exactly who came up with this brilliant idea?" Elrohir asked. His face was alight with anger, and Jeren, who'd just excitedly told her husband about Glorfindel's offer to teach the boys, was extremely puzzled.

Jeren had left Elladan with the children and had come up to her room to bathe and put on clean clothes after having sparred with Glorfindel earlier. She was just rebraiding her hair when Elrohir had come in, looking for something he'd needed.

"You don't think that teaching Andis the sword will in some way encourage his use of it on his sister, do you Elrohir?" She'd not meant to sound so utterly patronizing, but she was completely floored by his attitude.

"Then it was you who came up with this—_plan_?" he asked again. At the shake of her head, but before she could speak, he added, "Just answer the question, Jeren."

She all but rolled her eyes at his response to this wonderful news. She was very grateful she'd spoken to him first about this, without either Charlie or Andis in the room. They would have been very confused by Elrohir's reaction, even if the Elf didn't explode on them as he had on her.

"No, it wasn't me who thought to do this," Jeren said. "It was Glorfindel."

"Glorfindel?" Elrohir said, his tone incredulous. "He's done some things in the past that I have not agreed with, but I believe he has completely outdone himself this time."

Jeren went to him then, knowing this bout of temper was coming from his concern for the children, even though she completely disagreed with his stance.

"Elrohir," she said, placing a hand on his chest, "what is so ridiculous about Andis learning the sword? Surely you can't believe it would somehow promote violence in him?"

He looked at her pointedly, letting her know that was exactly his concern. "He's already shown his bent toward aggression in his dreaming, Jeren. I think that having him concentrate on the sword during his waking hours would be to completely disregard common sense."

"How about we let your father decide?" Jeren asked sensibly. "And we'll abide by his directive. If he thinks it is a horrible idea, then we can try to explain it to Andis somehow. And then what do we do about Charlie? Do we allow him to participate and leave Andis out? That would seem so unfair."

"I just wish that Glorfindel would keep his nose out of affairs that do not concern him," Elrohir said heatedly.

"Elrohir," Jeren scolded, "since when have you had issues with Glorfindel? He's been teaching youngsters since before you were one yourself!" She ran her hand down one of his arms, attempting to calm them both down. In a quieter voice, she added, "You always seemed to admire him, and I believed that you thought he was sensible as well. Surely you do not think he made his offer to Andis without thinking it through first, do you?"

Elrohir thought about that for a moment, and after a pause he seemed to finally stand down.

"It's just that—" he began.

When he didn't continue and seemed to be searching for words, Jeren supplied them. "It's just that you're thinking of the children; you care for them and don't want either of them hurt. But think of this Elrohir—mayhap being taught the sword in a responsible manner will have nothing but good effects on Andis. Especially if he's learning with Charlie. It hasn't happened yet, but I believe that they can be fast friends, given a little time. And how valuable would that be, when Andis ultimately goes to live with Timm and his family? He would already have someone at the settlement that he knew—someone of his own age. And that would tie him to Elen and James, and we'd both feel better knowing they had their eyes on him."

"Perhaps you have a point," he said cautiously, "but I still believe that Father should have the final say."

"And you are indeed right about that. But I certainly hope he doesn't deny his permission. Both boys were so excited by the idea."

Elrohir put his arms around her then, pulling her in for a kiss. "I am sorry I went off on you," he said, holding her closer so that her head rested against his chest. "Ever since Timm arrived I've been irritable. I think Jessa's pending departure has me on edge."

"I know how you feel," Jeren replied. "That's one of the reasons I wanted to spar today. I needed something to help keep my mind from the inevitable."

He pulled back a little to look into her eyes. "I just realized that we're completely alone—for the first time in a very long while." One of his finely arched brows lifted in question. "Where are the children?"

Jeren smiled. "Elladan has them. He took on Charlie's care when he promised Elen that nothing would happen to her son if he were allowed to come to Rivendell. And he is certainly enjoying getting to spend time with Jessa. He told me come seek you out, that you and I might have a little 'quiet' time together." She glanced at him from behind lowered lashes. "I'm not sure what _he_ meant by that, but I know what I would like to do…"

Elrohir kissed her more deeply then, and Jeren's passionate response wasn't surprising. He squeezed both her arms as he pulled out of her embrace, intending to lead her to their bed.

"Ouch!" she gasped, when his fingers inadvertently closed too hard on her very sore right arm. He jerked his hand back as if she had burned him, his expression alarmed.

"What is it?" he asked, taking her arm into his two hands. And it didn't take him long to understand the problem. Her limb was already so swollen that he could barely close his hands around it. "Overuse again…" he said, answering his own question.

"Let's forgo the dining hall for our noon meal and ask Bellasiel for a little something that we can take on a picnic to that Valar-forsaken, ice cold pond you took me to before, when you wanted to use cold to take the swelling out of my arm." She looked at him with seductive eyes. "And after I've soaked it, who knows what mischief we might entertain?"

Elrohir smiled and kissed her again. "I like the direction your mind is taking us. That sounds like a very nice way to spend a quiet afternoon." He looked as though he were thinking about what he'd been doing before, but he quickly decided to forsake work in favor of spending time with his wife. They began gathering some towels from the bathing chamber, as well as a couple of blankets that were kept in one of the wardrobes against the wall.

As they left their room and headed for the kitchen, Elrohir said, "Remind me to thank my brother. I like the way he thinks as well."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Elrond glanced up, his quill poised above the parchment he had been working on. He could hear someone—make that two someones—walking toward his closed study door. He lowered his pen, and as he listened, his lips curved slowly into a smile.

"Hold now, youngster," Elrond could hear. "One must always knock at a closed door, especially that of an important person such as Lord Elrond." The Elf lord could almost imagine Timm's large fingers closing around the Andis' upraised hand as it had made its way to the knob that would open the door. He then heard three knocks, obviously made by young, tender knuckles upon the wood, and not by the work-hardened hand of a grown man. He continued to listen as Timm added, "Do not forget a respectful greeting as well, young man."

"Enter," Elrond said, placing the quill aside and standing. He walked toward the door, ready to greet Andis and Timm as they came in.

Andis entered, practically dragging his uncle by the hand, but before he got too far into the room, he stopped and dipped his head, "G'mornin' Lord Elron'."

Elrond smiled again. This child was much different from the one who was brought here by his children a while back, sullen, sad and clinging to Elrohir. "Good morning, Andis." Then turning his gaze up to Timm, he wished him a good day as well.

"Andis insisted that I come to meet you," Timm supplied with a laugh, "even though I assured him that the two of us had already met."

Andis couldn't seem to contain his excitement anymore and suddenly said, "This is my Uncle Timm!"

Elrond laughed lightly, then said, "I understand that he is. I had wondered when you would get to meet him."

"I didn't even know he was here," Andis said logically, with his brows drawn together. "But while we were watchin' Jeren fight with her big knife—I mean sword—Elrohir brought him to us." Andis' eyes clouded for a moment. "I thought at first he was my Papa… but he wasn't. He just looks like him a lot."

He walked quietly toward Elrond's desk and stood there for a moment, apparently sidetracked by thoughts of his cherished Papa. He fingered the round stone paperweight on the corner that was atop some documents, staring at it and turning it over to see its flattened bottom. Elrond had shown it to him on one of his first visits to his study. The Elf lord had told him that the flat part was there to keep it from rolling away.

Andis suddenly looked up and said, "Another Elf told us he was going to teach us the sword!" While his words were quiet, Elrond could hear the excitement in the child's voice.

"Is that so?" Elrond asked as if completely amazed. "Which Elf was that? And who besides you will be learning it?" He'd looked at Timm as he'd asked the questions, but he believed he already knew the answers to them.

"Me 'n Charlie. And I don't know the Elf's name 'xactly," Andis said. "It sounds something like 'Glor-fedell'."

Elrond chuckled again. "You must mean Lord Glorfindel. Is that the Elf you are speaking of?"

Andis nodded excitedly. "He's the one. The big, scary Elf." His glance darted to Timm's, and then he added, "…My lord."

"I told Andis he should come and get your approval," Timm interjected, giving the Elf lord a look that bespoke of his apprehension. Elrond gave him a slight nod, acknowledging that he was aware of Timm's hesitation concerning this subject, assuring the man silently that he would give it his utmost attention.

He looked at Andis again, noting the wide eyes and parted lips that told him of the child's enthusiasm for learning the sword. "Well that sounds like it might be too big a challenge for children as young as you and Charlie are," he said, feeling his way in finding out just how important this might be to Andis. And he was quickly informed...

Andis shook his head, saying, "Oh no, it won't be too hard for us. We're big. Way big enough to learn this!"

Elrond walked back to his desk, first indicating to Timm to take a seat in one of the chairs in front of it. The Elf lord sat and looked at Andis long, considering what the child had said. He truly wondered at the wisdom of encouraging swordplay in Andis especially, given his dreaming of late.

"You would truly like to learn the sword?" Elrond asked him, when Andis had come around to stand beside his chair.

Andis nodded enthusiastically and said, "I sure would. One day, when I'm big, I'm gonna kill every monster—I mean Orc—that I ever see. People would be better off without those dirty, ugly, mean and horrible—" He looked at Elrond and the Elf lord could see the hate and fear in the child's eyes, as he'd remembered the day most of his family had been slain. Even as Andis stood there staring into Elrond's eyes, the Lord of Imladris could see the child's attempts to calm himself. When Andis was more composed, he finished what he'd been about to say. "We'd be better off without 'em around. And I will need to know how to fight with one of those big knifes before I can do that." He paused for only a second before he added, "—Big sword, I mean…"

Elrond nodded, glancing at Timm before he spoke to Andis again. "What would you do if I told you that I did not approve of you learning the sword at this time?"

The look of pure horror on the child's face made Elrond want to smile, but he kept his expression as impassive as he could, under the circumstances. The Elf lord watched the child's eyes as Andis thought about what he should say, or what, more importantly, the lord of Imladris might want to hear. The boy's face was as easy to read as a book, at least today it was, during this conversation.

"I would be sad," Andis said gravely, "but if you say that I can't do it, then I can't. You are in charge of this place, and I would be showin' bad manners if I cried or carried on—if you told me _no_. My Papa always used a switch on us, if any of us children back-talked to anyone grown up, even if we sassed Gran."

"Did he now?" Elrond said, brows raised, trying not to laugh, even as he heard Timm stifle his own mirth. "Then it is good that you thought this through, before you might be tempted to react in, shall we say, a temper. That is very wise thinking, Andis. And I am glad that you remember your Papa's lessons. Those are very important for every boy to keep in mind at all times." He looked at the papers on his desk for a moment, then glanced back at Timm, before he continued speaking to Andis. "Well, I am not going to tell you no. I think if Lord Glorfindel offered to teach you the sword, then he had a very good reason for doing so. He is the Arms Master of Rivendell, did you know that?"

Again, Elrond fought laughter as he watched Andis try to contain his jubilance over this wonderful pronouncement. Andis' lips were clamped together, as if he were trying his best not to shout for joy, and the effort of doing so was making his eyes widen and his brows rise. He shook his head, not trusting himself yet to open his mouth at all.

"Well he is. And as such, he will demand your utmost respect and attention. Do you think you can give it to him? If you are old enough to learn the sword, you are old enough to behave accordingly, are you not?"

Andis nodded his head vigorously, and Elrond rose from his chair. "All right. Now where have the other children gotten to?" he asked, changing the subject.

"El'dan was takin' Charlie and Jessa to the stables to see the horses, an' I think he was gonna put Bunny's saddle on her and let us ride!" Andis finally allowed his smile to shine through.

"That sounds like a good thing to occupy your time. Run along to the stable then, and join the others. I wish to speak to your Uncle Timm for a few moments."

As soon as Andis was safely out of the room, but before Elrond had a chance to say anything, Timm declared, "I suppose you have good reason for allowing the boy free access to a sword and the means to learn how to use it?" His tone sounded accusatory, and Elrond was not amused.

The Elf lord sat back down in his chair and looked sharply at the man. "Andis will definitely have no 'free' access to any sword. He will only have access to the smaller wooden ones that are used in training, and they remain in the armory." It was obvious that Elrond had taken affront at Timm's question, but he hoped that it wasn't apparent that his temper was getting the best of him. "I can understand your concern in this matter, Timm, and I know it might not seem to be such a good idea to allow Andis access to a blade, but I can assure you that all weapons—indeed everything of any pointed nature—have been put up and out of Andis' reach here in the house, whether he is awake or asleep. No one here is in any danger from the child." He grimaced so slightly it was hardly noticeable, in an attempt to temper his pique, but wasn't successful. "I do not believe learning the sword will make Andis a blood-thirsty killer at four years, but if he becomes aggressive, you can be assured that we will take the proper measures and cease the sword training."

Timm had the grace to look somewhat abashed, but he said in spite of his slight embarrassment, "I was merely wondering at the wisdom of Lord Glorfindel in this case. That is why I insisted that Andis come right to you and tell you of this plan." He glanced out the window, as if needing time to consider his words, and when he looked back at Elrond, he said, "As long as you are aware of this—and I have Jessa safely away—I will bow to your better knowledge of minds, and of Andis' mind in particular. But I do feel a certain loyalty to James and Elen, and since Charlie _is_ here…"

"I give you my sworn word that Charlie will be in no danger," Elrond said. He disliked not being in total control of his emotions, so to try and make some peace with the man, he added, "I am sure Glorfindel has a method to his supposed madness, and I for one have learned not to second-guess him."

Timm smiled, showing he appreciated Elrond's effort at peacemaking, and after several awkward moments of silence, he seemed to feel that a change of subject was needed, so he said, "Andis is indeed something, isn't he? Except for his light hair, he looks just as Anders did as a boy. It is as if my brother has been born again into another body. He even sounds like Anders used to sound—says some of the same phrases he favored."

Elrond cleared his throat before he spoke, glad that they were again at ease with each other. "I believe part of what you are hearing is from Andis being with Anders almost exclusively to anyone else. Andis has said repeatedly that he 'worked' with his Papa all the time, and since his siblings were both girls, I don't doubt his closeness to his father. I might even venture to say that they were probably inseparable, which is what made Anders' death so devastating to the child, causing Andis' mind to falter." Elrond made this speech calmly, with no hint of the irritation he'd been exhibiting just moments ago, accepting the change in subject as needed and appreciated.

Elrond shifted the documents around on his desk, apparently wanting to say something else, but feeling unsure as to how to say it. He finally replaced the paperweight on top of the stack of parchments he'd been riffling through and looked back at Timm.

"Has Halbarad concluded his business with Glorfindel?" he asked, as if he hadn't just been hedging for time.

Timm smiled somewhat grimly, knowing how fond the Elves and Jeren had become of little Jessa, and knowing full well that her imminent departure was what the Elf lord had on his mind.

"Yes, my lord," he answered softly. "We leave on the morrow, at the break of day." He looked out of the window behind Elrond's desk for a moment, his countenance darkening suddenly with what looked like regret. "It is with a heavy heart that I will leave the boy with you when I go. Now that I've met him, I'm loath to be parted from him." He leaned forward, resting one hand on his knee. "He and his sister are my last ties to my brother, and I would wish our lives together could start now rather than later. But since you have expressed the need to have more dealings with his mind, I do bow to your greater knowledge and expertise in this area. I would hate to take him from you prematurely, only for him to have greater problems when he is older."

"I think that is a wise decision. We are very fond of Andis here, as we are his sister, but you know I would not have said such, just to keep him here longer."

"I do know that, my lord," Timm said as he got up from his chair. "Now I will take my leave of you. I am going to find the children; spend some more time with them now. Once we are back at the settlement, I fear I will be busy with work, and soon I must be out on patrol again, and miss not only them, but my own two as well."

Elrond nodded, but said nothing further as Timm went out the door. He picked up the quill and bent his head to his parchment again, but his mind was not on his work.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren stretched her arms over her head, breathing deeply of the soft, humid air around the pool, where she and Elrohir lay on a blanket they'd brought with them. It was one of the last warm fall days, with winter rapidly approaching.

And how would one know that the old man of winter would be bearing down on them soon? There were Elves amongst those in Imladris who made a game of predicting the weather, making their judgments not only from the temperatures and precipitation from the year they were trying to do their predicting in, but also from prior weather over the centuries. The one who'd been teasingly named Anor by his fellows was in particular a weather scholar. For most of his life he'd kept meticulous records of the weather he'd witnessed. He was immensely interesting to speak with, recalling all sorts of terrible storms, from wind and rain to snow and sleet. Of course Rivendell wasn't usually plagued by dire weather, so his predictions were tame most days, but Imladris had its share of rain and snow during the different seasons, which he could predict to within hours of their occurrence. And he'd had dire predictions for the world this year, and for a cold, snowy winter, even in this valley…

But today was sunny, and a warm breeze caressed the lovers as they lay naked in the sun. Jeren felt better than she had in an age, every muscle relaxed. She let her arms fall back in place around Elrohir, and he responded by tightening his hold on her.

"I think I could lay here with you for the rest of my life," Jeren said, her voice languid.

Elrohir pulled her even closer in response and began kissing her shoulder, making his way up her neck.

When they'd first gotten to the icy pool, Jeren had, as planned, pulled off her tunic, but not her sleeveless training shirt, and had soaked her arm in the frigid water. When she could no longer even feel her limb, gone numb from the cold, Elrohir then claimed her time, slowly undressing the rest of her, with her weak protests muffled by his lips on hers.

She wasn't used to lying about naked, much less making love, in a place where others might intrude, but as soon as Elrohir reassured her that any Elves who were about would hear them long before they were visible to them, and would then not think to interrupt what they knew to be an intimate interlude, she relaxed and they'd had their way with each other—twice so far.

Jeren propped her head up on one elbow, looking at Elrohir—disbelieving her life as it was now. She was wed—bonded—to an Elf. ...And such an Elf... The most handsome she'd ever seen. Sometimes she wondered about her life—how it had started out being hard, although it hadn't seemed so at the time. Growing up with only her mother around—and sometimes her father, even though he was mostly absent. How her mother had become ill and how Jeren had had to nurse her through such a long illness, only to have her die in the end. Burying her by herself. And then being set upon by Orcs when she was sixteen. She thought then that her life had been truly over. She remembered being surprised when she woke up from that ordeal. And when she'd awoken, it had been to Elves, and the one lying next to her now had been there, had seen her through her recovery and everything since.

She bent down and kissed his cheek.

"What was that for?" he asked, looking amused. His eyes had been closed, but now they were open just a crack.

Just for being you, Elrohir," she said, as if that explained everything that she'd just been thinking about.

Elrohir closed his eyes again, and it was then that she realized he didn't look very happy. She'd been so caught up in being alone with him, in making love with him, that she hadn't bothered to check their bond. Yes, their connection enhanced their lovemaking, but she had unconsciously learned when to open it up and when to let it be, only faintly reminding her of its presence from time to time. It was usually very subtle, and she'd gotten so used to it being there, that she found she mostly ignored it. She bit her lip, now understanding that she needed to pay more attention—not constant attention, just enough so that she wasn't neglectful of her husband. She closed her eyes, delving into her heart and opening the bond she shared with him, and as she did so, she could feel Elrohir's pain—pain that she couldn't interpret.

"What is it, Elrohir?" she asked, her voice filled with unease.

He looked puzzled as he opened his eyes again. "What is what?"

"What has you so sad?" she asked. "I am sorry I didn't feel it sooner, but I guess I was just over involved in the moment…"

"It truly is nothing, Jeren," he said quietly.

She cocked her head to the side and frowned, telling him without words that she didn't believe him. _If it hadn't mattered, it wouldn't be bothering him._

He sighed, knowing she wasn't going to let this lie. He wished he would have kept a tighter hold on their bond. He didn't want to bring her spirits as low as his seemed to be.

"As I was bringing Timm out to meet Andis," he said, "he told me that Halbarad had concluded his business with Glorfindel, and that they would be leaving in the morning." He'd been playing with her hair with one hand, twining a strand around two of his fingers, but as he went on, he found her eyes. "Jessa will be gone tomorrow."

Jeren let her head fall forward, breaking her gaze from his. But he lifted her chin. "I am sorry to be bringing this news to you now. I wanted to wait until we were back before I shared it with you. But I suppose I grew careless…"

"No, Elrohir," Jeren said with a slight shake of her head, "I don't ever want you to try and spare me—especially not when you are hurting. That is why we bonded—to share everything in our lives. Please don't shut me out, especially if it is because you feel it is 'for my own good'.

Determined not to have their afternoon spoiled by his bad mood, he pulled her to him again, biting her neck playfully until she squealed and laughed like a small girl. As they relaxed again, their bodies melded together as if they were one. Jeren pressed her hips even closer against his, drawing a sudden sigh from him.

"So, you want to go again?" he asked her huskily.

"If you do," she said smiling slowly, her ever-present need to answer a challenge drawing her in, even though she was truly spent.

"I do," he said, "but I think to wait a while longer. While we're talking, there's something I'd like to speak to you about first, while you're in a good mood."

Jeren went rigid in his arms, and he shook her slightly. "None of that, now. It isn't something vile, you know."

"Then why must I be in a good mood before you will even discuss it with me?"

"A good mood isn't mandatory," he insisted, and she smiled, when she saw that she'd succeeded in making him just a little bit testy. He laughed then and tickled her slightly, and he hugged her to him again.

As soon as they'd settled once more, he said, all levity gone from his voice, "I've been thinking a lot about this lately. We've barely ever discussed it, and never seriously."

"Tell me, Elrohir," Jeren said, smoothing one of his braids behind his ear. "Don't make me hurt you to get it out of you."

He smiled again in response to that, but when he thought about it, he was unsure as to whether he should have brought this subject up at all. It was as if he'd already decided that Jeren would be against it, even before he'd put it into words. And having just mentioned Jessa's leaving…

"I was wondering…" he said, trailing a finger down her neck, which seemed to be a ploy that would keep him from looking into her eyes. "Would you ever consider the two of us begetting a child together?"

Had it not been for the heart-felt and completely serious tone of his voice, Jeren might have laughed, since the idea of her being a mother was all but absurd, but she could see the sadness in his eyes, as if he had already decided that she wouldn't discuss it and would reject even the mere suggestion of it out of hand.

But it was a serious question, asked with complete humbleness and not even a hint of coercion, so Jeren tried to answer him, without seeming to be negative, even though that is what her answer would entail, because they both knew deep down that she was no mother. At least she knew it...

_Didn't she?_

"Yes, Elrohir, I have thought about it. Quite a lot, actually. Especially since we found the children and have had them in our care. Honestly, I had thought about children even before I knew you were in love with me; not the two of us having a child together, but of me being a mother at all.

"I think it was when Elen had Charlie, and I watched her care for him when he was just a tiny infant. And when I held him, saw his small fingers and toes... The wonder of it all hit me hard…"

Elrohir smiled and kissed Jeren on the forehead. "I was always ambivalent about having children of my own," he said. "But being in charge of Andis and Jessa made me realize how wonderful being a parent can be—difficult at times, but wonderful on the whole. I only bring this up now because I want you to give it serious thought. As an Elf, I have all the time there is to have, but your time is limited, and I would hate for us to miss the chance, if it is something we would both wish to pursue."

He shifted her in his arms, so that he was on his back and her head was resting on his chest. "I fear that, even would we both want a child, the times are only growing harder and the world more dark. While there is even the chance that either of us will be needed in battle, I could not consent to bringing a child into this world; not as it is now, and definitely not if it were to grow worse."

"Well then let's hope—if we decide it is something we both might want—that the times we are living in do improve. As you said, there is hardly any point in discussing it at all right now, since it looks as if we both will be needed in battle for some time to come." She sat up then, resting on one hand, so that she could look into his eyes. "But I do promise to give your question serious thought. I always thought I knew the answer, but now… I'm not so sure anymore."

He pulled her back down to him and kissed her soundly. "That is all I can ask, Jeren," he said, kissing the tip of her nose. He quirked one brow and added, "Now, where were we? ...Ah yes, I believe we were about to go again…"

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"Hurry Andis," Jeren urged distractedly, as she finished braiding her hair. "We must get downstairs right away."

The sleepy boy sat up and rubbed his eyes, then threw the covers aside and got out of bed. He looked around for a minute, then said, "Where's El-ro-heer?"

"He's already downstairs, and we must meet him there very soon." She had retrieved some clothes for him, before he was even awake, and she hurriedly ushered him into the bathing chamber. In a very few minutes they emerged again with Andis refreshed and dressed for the day. Charlie was still gently snoring in the bed beside the one that Andis had just vacated.

"Why don't Charlie have to come?" he asked, as close to being cross as he ever got.

"Because Timm isn't Charlie's uncle," Jeren answered sensibly, not really taking the time to realize that her answer didn't mean very much to the small boy. She'd squatted in front of him, and ran her fingers through his hair. She'd forgotten to comb it when she was helping him dress.

Unbeknownst to Andis, they were about to say goodbye to Jessa and Timm, and Jeren, being distracted because she was late, was also not at her best, already mournful over Jessa's being gone permanently from Imladris. She had grown somewhat accustomed to not taking total care of the baby, with Elladan's return and Charlie taking the little girl's bed, but that still didn't take the sting out the child's departure.

It was very early and still mostly dark outside in the paddock, where the rangers had gathered before leaving to go to the settlement. Torches and lamps had been lit, so that the rangers could see to their horses and gear once outside the stable. Elladan was already there, holding Jessa and whispering promises into her tiny ear, kissing her cheek and cuddling her against his chest all the while. Jeren stopped and steeled her spine, feeling tears stinging her eyelids as she watched the two together.

She couldn't believe that Jessa was no longer going to be here, with her ready smile and toddling walk. She did take comfort in the fact that the baby would be just a few hours' ride from Imladris, at the settlement, and she could visit her whenever the longing to feel those little arms around her neck might get too great. She amended that thought, remembering that as soon as both of the children were gone, she would be back to scouting, and her time would not be her own to use—Glorfindel would be in charge of it. But even still, she would be able to see the children more often than she would otherwise, if their relatives had lived at a greater distance.

She made her way over to her brother-in-law, still holding Andis' hand, and when she reached Elladan she looked pleadingly at him, asking without words to hold the baby one more time before she was finally gone. He smiled weakly at her and relinquished his hold on Jessa, allowing the baby to lean into Jeren's arms for a more feminine cuddle.

"Jeren," Andis whined, pulling on her tunic to get her attention. "Why do we have to be out here? The sun ain't even up yet."

She either didn't hear him or had decided to ignore him, because she didn't answer, speaking nonsensically to the baby girl in her arms. Andis gave up with one last hard tug, and was suddenly whisked up from behind into two strong arms.

"Good morning, nephew," Timm said as he gave the boy a hug. "I am glad to have you come to see me off this morning."

"See you off?" Andis asked, confused, rubbing one eye and yawning deeply. "Are you goin' somewhere?"

Timm's face fell as he looked at Jeren askance. "You didn't tell him I was leaving today?"

Jeren looked ashamed as she gave Jessa back to Elladan. "I am sorry, Timm," she said, and then she ran a hand over Andis' cheek. "I didn't mean to neglect him, it's just that my mind was elsewhere." She glanced meaningfully back at Jessa, who was cooing in Elladan's arms as he held her head against his shoulder. "I never got the chance to tell him, and I don't think that Elrohir did, either."

Andis' shoulders fell as he realized what this meant. "I only just saw you—and now you already have to go away?" he complained to Timm. The boy was still tired, since he and Charlie had spent quite a bit of time the previous night roughhousing before bed, and then laughing and giggling, unable to sleep. Everything and nothing had been funny to them, and they'd stayed awake much longer than either of them was used to.

"I am sorry, son," Timm said, obviously miserable at unintentionally making Andis sad. "Do not worry—I will be back for you in a months' time—or someone will bring you to me and my wife. You will like your Aunt Jean and your cousins, when you finally get to meet them." Andis was looking down at his hands, so Timm guided the boy's chin up so that he could look at him. "I promise. It will not be long until we see each other again." Andis threw his arms around Timm's neck and hugged him. Jeren peeked around to look at the boy's face, to see if he had been moved to weeping. She was glad that, while he looked sad, there were no tears on his cheeks.

It was apparent that Timm was very good with children—he obviously loved them and they loved him in return. That he looked and sounded like his brother Anders was a definite plus as far as Andis was concerned.

"Good morning, all," Elrohir said when he walked up. He patted Andis on the back. "And how is our little man this morning?"

"He's not so happy," Timm said, "And I hope he knows that I'm not happy either, having to leave him here now. But I've told him I will be back soon, and that he will be joining my family in a very short while."

"That is true, Andis," Elrohir echoed. "You will get to live with your Uncle Timm."

"But I want him to stay here!" Andis said, sniffing as his eyes teared up.

"I know you do," Elrohir soothed, "but he must leave for now, and you would be doing us a great favor, if you stayed. Charlie is here, and he will be lonely without another little boy to play with." Andis rubbed one eye as his lower lip quivered. "Just stay a little while longer here in Rivendell. Just long enough to begin learning the sword with Charlie." Elrohir knew how little boys' minds worked, and if Andis could be distracted at all, this subject would do the distracting.

And Elrohir's strategy was successful, because Andis smiled wanly. He turned to Timm, saying, "When I come to the place where you live, can I still learn about big knifes?"

Timm hugged the child closer and said, "We'll see about that."

Halbarad called the rangers to order just as Elladan walked up, pulling something out of his pocket. "Turn around," he directed at Timm, as he handed Jessa to Jeren again. The man looked at him skeptically, but did as the Elf had instructed, first setting Andis on the ground beside him. Elladan then proceeded to tie a cloth contrivance around Timm, with straps going around his middle and over his shoulders. It looked for all the world like Elladan was tying an apron on him.

"What's this?" Timm asked skeptically, looking as if he would rip the thing off before he even knew what it was about. Elladan stayed the man's hands.

"It's a cloth harness to carry Jessa in. When we brought her here to Rivendell, I carried her, and even as strong you are, holding one's arms in one position for any length of time is tiring, believe me. I started with a sling, in which she could lay, but she grew tired of that very quickly, so I devised a harness somewhat like this, but far inferior. I've been working with the seamstress to come up with this one, and I believe it will hold her easily—and more importantly, happily—for your entire trip."

It was at this moment that Elrond joined them, and taking the baby from Jeren, he held her close for a few seconds. "I hope that you have a wonderful life, sweet girl," he said into her ear, and then he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. He then put Jessa into the harness resting against Timm's chest.

"Now let's see if I can mount with this extra weight on me," Timm said doubtfully, but he accomplished the task competently, if not smoothly.

It was then that Andis spoke out: "What is Jessa doing?" He frowned as he looked from one adult to another. "She ain't goin' too, is she?"

Elrohir squatted down to Andis' level. "Yes, she's going now to live with your aunt and uncle."

"But that's not fair!" Andis wailed. "All she does is cause trouble, and I'm as good as I can be, but _I_ have to stay behind?"

"It's just for a little while—" Elrohir began.

A couple of things happened simultaneously then, with Halbarad giving the word for the rangers to ride, and Andis pulling out of Elrohir's hands and running toward the stable.

Timm started to ignore Halbarad's order and dismount to go after the boy, but Elrohir said, "Please, let me. You go on, now. All will be well." At Timm's doubtful look, he added, "If he will not settle, I will bring him to you myself. But I know he will be fine. He's just tired and cranky, and finding out that Jessa was going with you was really the final straw for him. But I will be able to make him see reason. I know that I can."

Timm didn't say anything, but he nodded grimly and spurred his horse, holding Jessa steady with one of his hands and riding quickly to catch up with the others.

Elrond was already on his way to the stables to talk to Andis, but Elrohir caught up to him, placing his hand on his arm to stop him. "Let me, Father. Please. I want to."

Elrond nodded and added, "If you have any trouble, call me. He truly needs additional mind healing, Elrohir. Convince him, please, that he must stay here for now."

"I will, Father. Have no fear."

So Elrohir headed to the stable while the others went back into the house. Jeren hesitated for a moment, but Elrohir just smiled and nodded, affirming that he had this situation with Andis well in hand.

Once inside the barn, Elrohir approached Andis cautiously, not wanting to startle the boy, who had drawn a stool up beside Bunny and now had his face buried in the pony's mane. Elrohir walked on silent feet, but he made enough noise so that Andis would know that he was no longer alone.

"Andis…" Elrohir said, just wanting the child to look at him, but Andis stubbornly kept his face hidden.

"Andis, I am sorry for the way things turned out, but it isn't really so bad. Just think—you won't have to deal with your little sister for awhile; at least not until you go to live with your uncle and aunt." He smiled, but Andis still didn't move. "And you will get to begin the sword training lessons today…" There was still no response, so he added, "Besides, I would miss you greatly if you left now. I am going to be very unhappy when it is time for you to leave Rivendell."

Andis lifted his eyes away from the pony, his lashes spiky with tears. "I just don't see why Jessa gets to do something good, but I don't get to, even though I don't cause no trouble or nothin'," Andis said with a pout. Elrohir wanted to smile at the precious picture Andis made, but he knew that the boy certainly wouldn't appreciate it.

"It isn't that she gets to do something good, Andis," Elrohir said, as he tried to patiently explain the situation. "Don't you think she might be scared, going someplace new, not seeing any familiar faces? Her bed will not be the same, the food won't be the same, and while your aunt and uncle will love her and treat her kindly, do you not think she might miss the people here, people like Jeren and Elladan, who she's grown to love? She's only a little baby, and she doesn't understand yet what is happening around her. Yes, she will soon grow familiar with the new place and new people, but it wouldn't surprise me if at first she isn't at all happy about being there and not here. You remember how you felt, when you came to Rivendell for the first time. You held onto me and were afraid to let me go, because you knew no one here and nothing was familiar to you."

Andis had started stroking Bunny's nose as Elrohir spoke, and he placed a kiss on the horse's jaw as Elrohir finished speaking.

"Do I get to take Bunny with me when I go away, El-ro-heer?"

Elrohir stood right behind Andis now, and he placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I think that can probably be arranged," he replied.

"You know I will be sad to leave you, when I go live with my Uncle Timm, don't you El-ro-heer?" Andis asked. He'd turned around on the stool so that he was facing the Elf. His large, blue eyes looked up into Elrohir's gray ones, and Elrohir couldn't help the pang in his heart at the thought of having both children gone so soon.

"I was unsure as to whether you ever forgave me for breaking your Papa's sword," he said. "Have you? Forgiven me, I mean?"

Andis leaned against Elrohir, his arms instinctively encircling Elrohir's neck. "I forgave you a long time ago," he said, sounding like a child well beyond his tender four years. "You didn't mean it. You were just scared."

"Yes I was," he said, pulling back slightly to look at the boy. He rested his forehead against Andis'. "I want you to know that I think you are a very special little boy, and I'll remember you for as long as I live."

"I love you, El-ro-heer," he said, and he lay his head against Elrohir's chest while the Elf's slender fingers stroked the child's hair.

Elrohir picked Andis up from the stool and started carrying him out the stable door. "I love you, too, Andis," he said. "And I am going to miss you sorely when you go to your Uncle's house to live."

He walked across the courtyard to the back steps of the house. "Now, what do you say we go to the dining hall? I believe that our meal will be there waiting for us."

"Will there be sausage?" Andis asked hopefully.

"If there isn't sausage on the table, we will go ask Bellasiel to fix some for us!" Elrohir replied, ruffling the boy's hair with his free hand. He then lifted the child easily, placing him atop his shoulders, and together they went inside.

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**A/N: Sorry for the delay in my writing of this chapter. Real life slapped me hard a little over a month ago, but things seem to be back on an even keel, so I was finally able to write again. I hope you're still with me... As usual, I appreciate any and all comments, good or bad, to keep me on track.  
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**A/N2: Saw The Hobbit today! It was great!  
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	37. Chapter 37

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Ring and all its characters, races and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle-earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

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The next three weeks flew by, and Elrond met with Andis every day, at least for a little while. It made for a grueling schedule, not only for Andis, with his sword training lessons to attend, but for Elrond, who was expending quite a bit of his healing energy on the child. He would never admit that he felt weak, but it did not stop those around him from noticing and commenting on his haggard appearance. It was highly unusual for an Elf to not look in peak condition at all times; usually it was only those who'd been injured or who were taken by grief who did not look their best, but the healers among the Elves, of which there were few, knew what it was to feel drained at times.

Not every session he had with the boy was a long and drawn out affair; sometimes he merely talked to Andis, asking him about some of the things that he'd been trying to uncover during the longer, darker sessions, each time hoping that the boy's attitude toward Jessa would be changing, at least a bit. So far, the Elf lord was seeing very little results.

The boy's grief and fear did seem to be abating during the longer sessions, the ones that left both the Elf lord and the child completely exhausted. In those meetings, Elrond would make Andis give all the details he could remember about the day that his family had been attacked and killed, and each time Andis got further in the telling of the story. He always waited to hold their meetings until after Andis was finished with his training with Glorfindel, so that exhaustion wouldn't keep him from the thing he was most excited about in his life at the present. Elrond was hopeful that yesterday's session would be the breakthrough he'd been waiting for. The child had gotten almost entirely through the telling of the horrible ordeal, and had even awoken at the end without incident, with tears on his cheeks, but not hysterical. As usual, Andis had not remembered a thing about the session. He was very tired and had slept afterward, but it was completely on his own. Elrond had not had to force sleep upon him.

He hoped that today when he spoke to Andis, the boy could, perhaps, see that his sister was not to blame for their parents' deaths. That was, for the most part, the point of this whole, rushed healing. In every session that Elrond had sat through, listening to the child speak of the dreadful day that his life as he'd known it had ended, he would interject promptings about Jessa, always keeping his motive hidden from Andis, and all the while managing to make subtle suggestions into the child's mind that might take root and bear fruit in the end. He was always hopeful that Andis would, if not speak kindly of his baby sister, at least seem to hold no malice for her. Up till now, during the sessions, the child's face would change when he heard his sister's name, going from fearful or grief-stricken to angry in the space of a heartbeat. Elrond was hoping that today during their casual talk, Andis might finally agree with him, that Jessa is just a baby and had not understood at the time of the Orc attack what she was doing to cause harm to their parents.

It was a couple of hours after their noon meal, and Elrond knew that Elrohir was going to have Andis riding Bunny in the paddock beside the stables now. They had made their arrangements, working to schedule things to everyone's good, shortly after Timm left, when they first began the long sessions, taking care not to interfere with the boys' sword training. Of necessity their meetings were held after the noon meal, since the boys met with Glorfindel directly after they broke their fasts every morning. Elrohir was always present during the meetings and before the long ones, he would dose the boy with Valerian to make him sleep. He'd told Andis when they started the sessions that he needed to sleep for mind healing. Of course Andis did not understand that he needed such healing, but Elrohir told him—and he told him exactly the truth—that Andis had far too many nightmares, and in order to be rid of them, he needed Lord Elrond to heal his mind. Andis did not know how greatly the two Elves were manipulating his life at present, but he trusted them, so he drank the herbal sleeping draught without too many questions or protests.

Both Andis and Charlie were still small boys, very sensitive to routine, and the Elves knew that variances of this so important structure would leave them unsettled and susceptible to upset. So they'd devised their plans with both children in mind. The boys had their sword training daily, and after the noon meal they were separated, allowing Elrond to meet with Andis without Charlie present. Elrohir would either take Andis inside to their room for one of the longer sessions, or he would bring him to the stables for riding practice, allowing Elrond to talk to Andis, to see if the previous day's session had indeed been fruitful. Jeren would work with Charlie on the basics of swordplay during Andis' absences every afternoon. On the days when Elrond felt a more lengthy session was needed, these separations were merely longer, with Andis rejoining Charlie at the evening meal. On the days the shorter sessions were held, after Elrond had finished speaking with Andis, the boys would switch activities, with Charlie going to Elrohir for riding and Andis to Jeren. That way, they each got equal time doing the things they both enjoyed, but neither had to wait for the other to finish, and more importantly, Elrond was able to talk to Andis without Charlie overhearing.

As he strode toward the paddock that was adjacent to the stables, Elrond was deciding exactly what he would say to prompt Andis today. He'd tried various approaches to bringing the subject of Jessa into their talks, never wanting to be too obvious, but fearing he would be anyway. After all, there were only so many ways one could bring a subject up without tipping one's hand. He smiled as he saw the boy's face—Andis was completely at home in the saddle. If it truly was a warrior the child wanted to be one day, he had a very good start on his horsemanship, thanks to Jeren and her idea of acquiring Bunny in the first place.

"Hello, Lord Elron'," Andis said as he pulled the rein slightly to get Bunny to turn to the left, as Elrohir had just instructed him to do.

"Good afternoon, Andis," the Elf lord replied. "You look right at home in a saddle. Do you like riding?"

Andis nodded his head and completed the turn, which—after several seconds—had become an entire tight circle.

"El-ro-heer," Andis said, his face puzzled, "why are Bunny and me goin' 'round and 'round?"

Elrohir laughed lightly before he replied, "This was a lesson in listening and learning, Andis, as well as a test. It teaches you to listen and obey your teacher, even if the lesson seems odd." Elrohir stopped Bunny with a hand on her cheekpiece, and he gave her neck a pat. "It also teaches the horse to trust his rider. You can be sure that Bunny wondered why she was going in a circle, just as you were wondering it." He glanced up into the child's face, placing his hand on Andis' knee. "And if those two reasons are not enough explanation for you, then I can also tell you that you and Bunny need to learn how to turn around. Not every path a rider takes leads him where he might have expected it to. Sometimes a horse and rider must turn completely around in order to retrace their steps, so that another path might be found, and there isn't always a great deal of room to do the turning."

Andis beamed at having passed the test, obviously very pleased with himself, as well as satisfied with Elrohir's answers.

The younger Elf then smiled at his father, and Elrond could see just how much his son loved this child. It was going to be hard for Elrohir to give Andis up—and all too soon. They had one more week in which to accomplish what now seemed improbable. Elrond had thought it would not take this long to breach Andis' anger against his sister, but—he was afraid he'd been wrong.

Elrond whistled shrilly and after he did, he nodded to Elrohir to do likewise. Andis covered his ears, not liking the ear-piercing trill he was hearing, but being completely surprised when the grooms inside the stable opened the doors and out trotted two beautiful Elven horses, each replete in his own tack. One was Sadron, Elrohir's stallion, and the other was Rovain, Elrond's glossy black charger. Both Elves quickly and smoothly mounted, and then both steeds started to walk slowly away from the paddock. Andis was obviously dumbfounded by what had just happened, because he and Bunny stood exactly where they'd been when Elrohir stopped them just moments before.

Elrohir looked back and asked, "Well, are you not coming riding with us?"

Andis continued to stare at each of the Elves in turn, looking first at Elrond and then at Elrohir. He then gave Bunny a nudge with his heels, and she began to walk behind the larger horses. They didn't go far; in fact they could see the stable from where they stopped, at least the Elves could, and they dismounted at a small stone structure, like a round porch, with columns and short railing all around. Andis tied Bunny to the rail on one side, and when he had finished, Elrond handed him Rovain's rein.

Andis frowned at the leather strap in his hand and glanced up at the Elf lord in question.

"Tie Rovain for me, please, Andis," Elrond said, with a glance at Elrohir. As Andis began tying the strap to the post, Elrond whispered lilting Elvish words to the horse, stroking his strong, sleek neck as he did so. The boy tried to do his task well, but the rein was newly tanned and less flexible than the one that he'd tied Bunny with, so he just did the best that he could.

They all went into the airy structure and sat side by side on a stone bench, which ran all along the inside of the perimeter of the rail. They had their backs to the horses, so that they could view the valley before them, which was one of the most panoramic of sights in all of Rivendell; thus this stone gazebo out here where there really was nothing else.

"Ah Andis," Elrond said tiredly, "soon you will be leaving us and going to live with your Uncle Timm at the settlement. Are you excited to be seeing him again?"

Andis got a strange look on his face, somewhere between apprehension and sadness. When he didn't answer right away, Elrohir glanced at the boy, trying to prompt him to reply.

"W-e-l-l…" Andis said, drawing out the word as only a child can, "I guess so…" Elrohir looked at the boy again, surprised at his reluctance, and Andis quickly added, "I _will_ be glad to see him again." His expression fell as his eyes sought the stone of the floor before him. "But I won't like leavin' here." He placed a hand on Elrohir's arm, almost possessively. "I wish he could come here to live…"

Elrond knew what he was doing, although Andis did not, so he answered pragmatically, "Oh he could not do that. As your Papa had the farm where he worked, your uncle is a Ranger with the Dúnedain, and he must remain where his task is. He could not possibly come here to live, even if we might invite him to. Also, he has his home at the settlement, where his family lives. He has a boy somewhat older than you are and a girl as well, not to mention your Aunt Jeananne. And of course, Jessa is there now..."

Andis frowned at his sister's name, as if the mere mention of her made him angry, and of course it did, unfortunately; and it told Elrond exactly what he'd wanted to know—that even with the progress they'd made in their long session yesterday, it had not been enough.

"I forgot about _her_," Andis said sullenly.

"Well, it is no matter," Elrond said after a few moments, his tone now a defeated one. He lightened his voice before he added, "Do not forget that Charlie will be leaving with you; he lives at the settlement, too, with his family."

Andis nodded, his lips curving into a small smile. "I will be glad to have Charlie there," he admitted. "I like playin' with him."

Elrond smiled and got up from the bench. "Well, I suppose it is time to get ourselves back to the house. I do have some more work I must see to…"

They all got up then and turned to walk toward the horses, but Andis stopped short when he saw that there were only two there—Bunny and Sadron. Andis darted a quick glance at Elrond before he ran to where he'd left Rovain.

The horrified look on the boy's face was almost comical, but neither Elf even smiled.

"What's this?" Elrond asked, as if he might be somewhat angry, and indeed he added a frown, his formidable brows drawn together menacingly. "Did you not tie Rovain well, Andis?"

The child's large eyes and gaping mouth gave Elrond a pang of guilt, but this was all for the advancement of Andis' healing, so he could not relent and tell the boy that he had, in fact, ordered Rovain back to the stable earlier. He waited, his frown deepening, for the boy to answer.

"I-I thought I did!" Andis almost wailed. His eyes searched in vain for Elrond's elegant horse, but of course he was nowhere to be seen. When he gave it up for lost, Andis looked back at Elrond, clearly afraid—and clearly wondering if he'd be punished.

With a great deal of show, Elrond allowed his face to relax and—after several moments, so that it did not seem too easy—he actually smiled, but he did so as if the action pained him. "Never mind, Andis," he finally said, his voice once more kind. "I gave you a task that was too difficult for you—you are only a small boy. The fault is mine for entrusting it to you, when you are not old enough to understand such responsibility."

He walked over to where the boy stood. Andis' demeanor relaxed somewhat, although he was still worried, if one could read his expression at all. Elrond crouched before him. "This situation reminds me of another, although I hesitate bringing it up, for it is a sad thing to think about, much less speak of…"

He paused for a moment, trying to read Andis' expression, but could not, so he went on. "When your family was attacked, Jessa was crying and wouldn't stop. You were angry with her, because she could do nothing but cry, when everyone there knew that no one must utter a sound lest the Orcs hear them. And just now, I was angry that you had not tied Rovain well.

"But I am no longer angry at you, because I know you did not leave Rovain untied on purpose. I gave you a task unsuitable for your age and experience. Likewise, your father and mother were probably upset at first that your sister was crying, trying very hard to get her to cease it, and quickly, yet she just kept on. But do you think they were angry with her, when she would not be quiet?"

Andis nodded his head emphatically. "Yes I do! I was surprised when my Papa did not tell her sternly to quit her foolishness!"

"But he did not, did he?" Elrond asked directly, hoping to finally get his point across to Andis. "Just as I am not angry at you for not securing Rovain's rein to the post. The task was too hard for you. You were not capable of doing it correctly, and I should have seen that before I entrusted you with such responsibility."

The sadness that overtook Andis' face the moment his father was mentioned—reminding the boy of what he believed was the cause of his father's death—was heartbreaking to behold, as if the child were thinking that he had been wishing with all his might that his father had done just that—had told Jessa to quit her foolishness. But he had not and the baby had continued to cry, so much so that his Papa had gone out of the house to lead the Orcs in another direction, away from his family. That Andis had even heard the mention of Elrond's anger at him was not apparent at all.

The Elves watched the boy's face, and it began to harden once more in anger at Jessa for wailing loudly, when everyone else knew to be quiet. There was no contriteness in his expression, in hopes that the Elf lord would not be angry at him for allowing his horse to escape. It was as if Elrond's comparison had not been understood by the boy at all.

Despite this obvious omission on Andis' part, Elrond decided to go on. "No, your Papa did not scold the baby. And do you know why he did not?"

Andis shook his head, the sadness creeping back, visible in the slump of his shoulders and the trembling of his lower lip.

"He did not because he knew she was too young to understand him. Had he scolded Jessa, she would have only cried all the louder, because a baby knows nothing of quiet or acting responsibly. Their minds are small; they must grow before they are capable of such thought. Jessa was in pain and the only means for her to communicate that was in crying. Your parents knew this, as did your grandmother and your older sister. But you, too, are very young, so you did not understand this thing about babies. You have been holding Jessa responsible for something she just simply could not grasp." Elrond placed his hands onto Andis' shoulders then. "Do you understand now, what it is I am trying to tell you?"

Elrond had been watching Andis closely throughout this speech, and he'd wished he could read the dawning of a new idea in the child's expression, but he could not. Andis' face grew pensive, but Elrond could tell nothing from it, and even though the boy nodded his head hesitantly that he did understand, Elrond was far from sure that Andis truly did grasp his meaning. It could be that he was still too young to comprehend this idea, but Elrond thought it more a matter of his being set in his anger, needing to blame someone or something for taking his Papa away from him.

So the Elf lord—without knowing whether his latest attempt at getting Andis to see Jessa's total innocence in the deaths of his family—stood up, and then lifted the child effortlessly into Bunny's saddle.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The next morning, Jeren had Charlie and Andis at the training yard directly after the morning meal. Her habit had become to rise earlier than usual, and then warm up and have her first training bout of the day with Glorfindel, even before the sun rose. He would have torches lit and placed at various posts in the yard, and after a brief period of loosening her muscles, the two of them would spar. The torches gave light, but they also flickered and wavered, casting eerie shadow and uneven flares, making precision difficult. _The better for training, according to the ancient Elf who was teaching her_.

After that first trial of the morning, they would go their separate ways, and Jeren would bathe and make herself presentable for the dining hall. By that time, Elrohir had the boys up, and together they would help them dress and get ready to break their fasts.

Back in the training yard after morning meal, Jeren and Glorfindel would spar again, while Charlie and Andis went through the basic exercises for sword training. Jeren never knew how he did it, but Glorfindel was apparently able to divide his attention, because every now and again, he would call a halt to their bout and address something one of the boys had been getting wrong in their exercises.

This morning Andis and Charlie apparently grew bored with going through the expected routine, because all at once Glorfindel stopped before even warning Jeren he was about to, causing her to accidentally jab him in the chest with her blade. The two of them used real swords, not the blunted metal ones that the senior students used.

She almost dropped hers, she was so horrified at what she had done, but her concentration had been complete, and she'd been unable to process the Elf's abrupt cessation of the bout in time to prevent making contact with him. She almost fainted when a small spot of bright red began blooming beneath the tiny rent in the fabric of his shirt. He, however, did not give any notice that she'd even touched him, for he had turned to watch the boys as events unfolded.

Andis and Charlie were supposed to be going through the practice drills that Glorfindel had taught them the very first day of their training, yet they, too, were trying to spar, clacking their wooden blades, one against the other, until, as was inevitable where small boys are concerned, Andis got carried away in the bout and whacked Charlie soundly on the arm with the wooden blade that he held.

Charlie froze, stunned by the strength of the blow from the smaller child. As Jeren and Glorfindel looked on, one could see the gears turning inside Charlie's head, as he thought of several things in as many seconds, first wondering if he should shake off the considerable pain, as he would have done had his brothers been present, or play on Jeren's sympathy, as the presence of his mother would have dictated. He opted for playing up the injury to gain Jeren's attention, so he dropped to the dirt, writhing and wailing about the pain he was in.

Glorfindel's stony gaze pinned Jeren to where she stood, and then he strode toward the boys. As soon as he'd reached them, he crouched down, while at the same time pulling Charlie to his feet with one hand, expending barely any effort at all. Turning to Andis, Glorfindel said, his voice velvet steel, "You are very young, but you are _not_ a baby. You are old enough to understand that when you hit someone with one of these practice swords, it will hurt them. That is why you must first train before you are allowed to spar. There are reasons for the rules that I give. "

Turning to Charlie, he inspected the welt that was rising on the boy's arm, where Andis had hit him. "And you are old enough to understand that every bump and bruise that a swordsman receives does not warrant tears! I'd venture to say that you would be hard-pressed to ever see a warrior weeping in pain over such an insignificant blow."

Then grasping each child by their upper arms, he pulled them inside the Armory. Jeren followed, wondering just what Glorfindel intended to do. She hated that her first reaction was to 'mother' each of the boys, even though they were doing precisely what they'd been told not to do. They had not advanced enough yet to be sparring with one another, and Glorfindel had plainly told them as much on the very first day, repeating it quite regularly in the three weeks that the boys had been taking the lessons. There was truly no excuse for their bad behavior.

He sat them each in a chair at his 'desk', which was really a table strewn with maps and papers. He rummaged around under the documents and, after very little searching, he brought out a small jar of ointment, which he opened. Taking Charlie's arm into his hand, he smeared some of the fragrant, green balm onto the welted bruise that adorned the small child's limb.

"Rub that in," he instructed to Charlie, and the boy did as he was told, gingerly spreading the cream carefully, so that he would not cause the bruise to hurt worse, while Glorfindel put the lid back onto the jar. The Arms Master then sat in a chair across from the two boys, his face set as if in stone.

"I have a good mind to cancel the remainder of your lessons—" he began, and Charlie started to protest, but seeing the hard, blue eyes trained on him, he wisely kept his lips closed. "—but I will not. You are, however, through for this day! Go back to the house, both of you."

Dejected, the two youngsters got up from their chairs, and, hanging their heads, made their way out the door. Jeren was almost afraid to speak herself, Glorfindel looked so formidable, but after a few moments his face relaxed some, at least as much as it ever did.

Looking doubtfully at Jeren, Glorfindel asked, "Do you think that was an aggressive action on Andis' part, or was he merely carried away in the moment?"

Jeren was surprised that Glorfindel sought her opinion. She would have thought that he would have had a decided view on the subject himself. Yet she knew what she thought, and she told him.

"I believe it was a momentary thing, not brought on by aggression, but by over enthusiasm. I don't think Andis meant to hurt Charlie at all."

"That is what I believe as well," Glorfindel said. "Yet I will report the incident to Elrond, and mention your presence, and if he thinks it warrants further study, he can seek out your counsel."

Jeren was so stunned that Glorfindel would even think of anyone here in Imladris seeking her counsel that she almost couldn't speak, and she definitely didn't notice that the spot of blood on the Arms Master's shirt was spreading. Glorfindel noted her surprise and said, "Why does this revelation shock you? As Elrohir's wife you are a full-fledged member of Elrond's family, and your opinion counts as much as anyone else's." He frowned at her. "It is time you lived up to—as well as reaped the benefits of—your position here in Rivendell. And believe me, that task is a double-edged sword, and I, personally, do not know how you will accomplish it, as well as be a scout for me. I think the time will come one day to choose, although I hope that time is not now. We will need every able-bodied warrior before all is said and done, since—as you know—the darkness grows all around us."

He deepened his frown, and then left her standing there with her jaw dropping open.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Elrond was busy in his study when a brief knock sounded at the door. He let out a breath, not realizing he'd been day-dreaming again. He chided himself for sitting here musing, when he should be getting on with his tasks. It did no good to pine about Andis, brooding over the fact that the boy had been beyond his healing capabilities. He dropped his quill into the inkwell and stood, at the same time directing whoever it was to enter. Glorfindel opened the door partway, far enough to stick his head into the room.

"I need to speak with you, Elrond," he said, "but if you wouldn't mind, it is a matter best taken up in the Healing Halls. That way I can talk, and you can listen while you stitch me."

Elrond joined his friend in the hallway, already reaching for the pad of gauze that the Arms Master was holding against his shirt. The gauze was almost soaked through with blood, and beneath it, Elrond saw a tiny rip in the fabric of Glorfindel's shirt that was also stained with red. The Lord of Imladris removed the gauzy pad covering the injury, peering at it for a moment, and then lowered the bandage back onto it. He took Glorfindel's hand and replaced it over the gauze. "Hold onto that—it is still bleeding."

As they walked along the corridor, Elrond asked, "How came you to be injured while sparring—at least I am assuming it was sparring. It looks to be the work of a very sharp blade." Before Glorfindel could answer, Elrond interrupted. "Ah, allow me to guess. The last time I had to repair damage to your person due to sword training was because you'd taunted Elladan a bit too harshly."

"I was taunting no one—" Glorfindel started, but before he could continue, Elrond interrupted again, shaking his head and smiling.

"Celebrian was so angry at you!"

"Her anger at me was totally unjustified!" Glorfindel said. "I was the injured one!"

"Angry at _you_, as well you know," Elrond assured him. "She was beside herself because you'd been harping at Elladan for weeks until he snapped, at a time in every young Ellon's life when he is particularly vulnerable to his emotions."

"You knew why I did it," Glorfindel said.

"I didn't say _I_ was angry, did I?" he asked with a smile. "Of course I knew why you did it—it was something that needed doing. Elladan never again wielded a weapon at anyone in anger, not after injuring you in a fit of temper."

"You know that is not entirely true…" Glorfindel said.

Elrond glanced at the Arms Master and admitted, "I suppose you are right, but Orcs do not count."

By this time they'd reached the Healing Halls and each Elf pushed one of the double doors open. Elrond directed Glorfindel to sit on an empty bed, just so that the cut would be at a height more easily stitched. After he'd cleansed his hands, he gathered the supplies he would need, and also filled a basin with water, so that he could clean the wound and determine exactly how many stitches it would require.

When he had everything ready, he took the gauze from Glorfindel and told the ancient Elf to remove his shirt. As Glorfindel cast the garment across the end of the bed, Elrond said, "It might be salvageable. If you take it quickly to the laundry, the stain might be removed, and it has only a tiny rent in it." Frowning, his gaze slowly sought Glorfindel's, as if something was finally dawning on him.

"How could such a deep cut be made by training sword? And why is the tear in the fabric so small, yet the wound on your chest is deep?" He peered at the cut, holding the edges open as he did so. "I can see bone, here, Glorfindel, and there are cloth fibers imbedded in your flesh! You weren't wounded by a training sword!"

"I wondered when you would notice that. We were not sparring with the training blades, Elrond. As you know, I've been training with Jeren—"

Elrond raised his brows and interrupted the Arms Master yet again. "—_not_ using training blades? You are not telling me that you have been sparring with Jeren with real swords, are you, Glorfindel, because if you are…" Not only had Elrond's brows dropped together to form a low V, his eyes were practically flashing fire.

"_You_ heal, Elrond—_I _teach weapons. Do not forget those two facts. If I say that Jeren needs to be using a real blade, then that is what she will use!" Glorfindel was giving as good as he was getting, and by the look on his face, he was not going to give an inch.

Elrond stood back, his hands on his hips, as a drop of blood from the cut on Glorfindel's chest bled down his ribs, but neither of the Elves took any notice of it since one was staring at the other without blinking. After several seconds, Elrond looked away, taking up a cloth from the bowl of water he'd brought and wiping away the blood. He then took some tweezers into his hand. He picked the lint from the wound, and then cleansed it well. He threaded a needle and just before he placed it to the injury, he covered the cut with his bare fingertips.

Glorfindel pulled the healer's hand away. "No, Elrond. I can see that you've used enough of yourself on the child. I can endure a few stitches without your expending any more energy."

Elrond's brows rose and he said in protest, "_You_ teach weapons, remember? _I_ heal. Now remove your hand from mine or you will have another injury to deal with."

They stared into each other's eyes for several seconds, and slowly, slowly, Glorfindel freed Elrond's hand. One could suppose that the Arms Master had won the first round, so he conceded the second.

As soon as Elrond had imbued the injury with his healing essence, rendering it temporarily painless, he set his needle to Glorfindel's flesh and commenced with the stitching.

"So if not goading, what had Jeren angry enough to do this to you?" Elrond asked.

"It was not her anger that did me in, but my own distraction."

Elrond stood up straighter and looked at Glorfindel for a moment. "Distraction? The Great Arms Master of Imladris, who prides himself on his ability to see to many tasks at once?"

"Levity is not one of your keener attributes, Elrond," Glorfindel said, and Elrond chuckled lightly. "I was training with Jeren, while Andis and Charlie were repeating their basic drills. I can usually keep my eyes and my mind on those two things at once without trouble."

"So, is the Arms Master ready to hang up his shield?" Elrond asked, and quickly stood back, dodging the swipe of one of Glorfindel's big hands. Elrond had dropped the needle, and it was dangling from the thread attached to Glorfindel's skin. As soon as Elrond knew the fisticuffs were over, he took up his needle again.

"Of course I am not ready to hang up my shield," Glorfindel said in a frustrated tone. "It is just that I have paid keener than usual attention to these two boys, more so than to any other students I have ever taught in the past. I do not take my responsibility to Elen lightly, Elrond, and I say that with the utmost of regard for Andis. I know he isn't a killer, but others might not know that, and having him injure Charlie, even inadvertently, is not something on which I had planned."

Elrond stopped the stitching to look at Glorfindel again. "Are you telling me that Charlie was injured today?"

Glorfindel was gazing into Elrond's eyes, but he hadn't yet spoken, when Elrond said, "I can see there is something you aren't telling me, my friend. Your silence is making me nervous."

"It is really nothing of concern, Elrond," Glorfindel said, but it sounded more as if he were trying to convince himself than his friend.

"If it involves Andis and Charlie," Elrond said, "let me decide if it is concerning or not."

"It is nothing that hasn't happened in the past, with other students, yet it is different with Andis and Charlie. While Charlie seems the more worldly, Andis seems the more mysterious of the two. It feels as if I do not ever completely know what Andis is thinking, but the other boy I can read like a map! And that makes _me_ nervous."

"What happened, Glorfindel?" Elrond repeated.

"They began sparring with their wooden training swords, which is against my rules, and Andis got carried away. The result was that Charlie was dealt a stinging blow to the arm with Andis' weapon." Elrond had paled with this news, so Glorfindel quickly added, "I truly think it wasn't aggression, Elrond; I think it was merely over enthusiasm. Jeren believes this also.

"I lost concentration while sparring with Jeren, because I stopped and watched the boys, who were also sparring, but without leave to do so. No new students ever spar until they are given express permission, and I had not given it to them yet. So I stopped my bout with your daughter-in-law without actually calling a halt, and she did what any swordsman would do, and that is continue to fight. When I just stood there without feinting from her blade, her sword made contact, and that is why I am here now."

"So that explains this wound," Elrond said, "but it leaves me wondering about the boys. Was Charlie injured?"

"Not really. He will bear a bruise and perhaps a little swelling, but nothing at all of a serious nature."

Elrond let out a breath. "So you truly think Andis was not acting with hostility in mind?"

"I strictly believe he was just playing—they both were. But you and I know that sword training is not the place for playing at all. That is why I have such strict rules for no sparring at first. I do not want any student to think it is play."

Elrond knotted the thread for the final time and cut it, then dabbed the wound with the piece of gauze he'd been using to staunch the bleeding. He reached for a jar of herbal balm, unscrewing the lid and, dipping his fingers into the pleasant smelling ointment, then applied it to Glorfindel's wound. He covered it with a clean piece of gauze and then wound a bandage around the Arms Master's chest.

"So are Charlie and Andis finished with their sword work? Did you use this mischief of theirs to cease their training?"

"There are very few days remaining before the boys are returned to the settlement. I told them I was tempted to end their training completely, but I only stopped it short for the day. I expect them again tomorrow, but any more misbehavior will result in a complete cessation of training, I assure you."

Elrond nodded and, picking up his tray of supplies, took it back to the cabinet where it was usually stowed. As he cleaned the instruments, Glorfindel put his shirt back on and walked toward the Lord of Imladris.

"Thank you, Elrond." When his friend said nothing, and in fact seemed lost in thought, he added, "Worry not about Andis. Talk to Jeren. She will confirm what I said. It was merely over eagerness, not violence on the boy's part." When Elrond still said nothing and continued in his task, Glorfindel placed a staying hand on his friend's arm. "And a favor you might do for me—?"

Elrond glanced at Glorfindel, showing him he was listening.

"Do not tell Jeren that this cut required any attention. It was entirely my fault, and I would rather not have her guilt clouding her training, making her hesitant."

"Your favor is granted, Glorfindel," Elrond said, and then he returned to his sorting and cleaning and putting away.

Glorfindel stood there for a few moments longer, as if he wondered if he needed to say more, but finally, he walked away, leaving the Healing Halls.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Elrohir glanced up from his reading and again watched Andis toss in his bed. Jeren was in the bathing chamber, soaking in water as hot as she could stand, hoping to relieve some of her aching muscles from her strenuous training schedule of late. Elrohir had been trying to read while propped up in bed, but Andis' restlessness wasn't allowing for good concentration.

The Elf got up and first checked on Charlie, who, as was almost always true of him, had gone out like a light the minute his head hit the pillow. Andis, however, opened his eyes when he felt Elrohir adjusting the blanket that was covering him.

"Can you not sleep?" Elrohir asked him quietly.

Andis shook his head no, but the Elf could see that something was troubling the child.

"Have you had a nightmare already, and it woke you up?" he asked.

Again Andis shook his head slightly.

Elrohir sat on the edge of the bed and stroked the child's face, checking to see if for some reason he might be feverish. But the boy's skin was only pleasantly warm, just as it should be for a little one snuggled in bed and ready for sleep.

"What is it, Andis?" he asked. "I think you will be able to sleep if you get what is on your mind out into the open."

Andis frowned, thinking about that, and after several moments of silence, said, "I think I must be bad, El-ro-heer."

Elrohir looked at him doubtfully. "I know that is not the case, Andis. You are about as good a boy as I've ever seen." His fingers stroked the child's cheek again. "What makes you think such a terrible thing?"

"W-e-l-l…" Andis began. "I was really bad when I let Lord Elron's horse go yesterday. He got awful mad at me."

Elrohir hoped his own expression would convey relief, that nothing was as bad as the boy was thinking. "But he got over it quickly, did he not? We all know that accidents happen sometimes. And remember that my father told you it wasn't your fault at all—it was his, for giving you a task that did not fit your age."

"I think he was just sayin' that," Andis said. "I think he really thinks I'm bad, and not worth the trouble it took to make me."

Elrohir laughed lightly, loving the way Andis spoke, even though the words he'd aimed at himself were troubling. He was sure he heard echoes of the boy's father in the phrasing; it was probably something he'd said about some frustrating fellow he knew. Elrohir couldn't picture—with as good a relationship as Andis had with his father—Anders ever aiming such a phrase at any of his children.

He pulled the boy up into a hug. "Oh no, Andis. My father loves you, just as I do. He would never think a thing like that. We can go ask him, if it would make you feel better."

"Honest, El-ro-heer? Do you think he still likes me?"

Elrohir laughed again, but quietly, so as not to wake Charlie, and he let go of Andis, allowing him to lie down again. "I certainly do think so. We saw him all day today, at our meals, and he did not seem angry, did he?"

The Elf could see partial relief come over the child's face as he shook his head no again, but as Elrohir sat there watching Andis, he knew there was still something lying hidden behind the boy's eyes. "What else is bothering you, Andis?"

Andis' eyes drooped sleepily, but then he looked at Elrohir again.

"I know Lord Glorfedell is mad at me."

"I heard about what happened in the training yard this morning." At Andis' inquiring look, he added, "Jeren told me."

"I didn't mean to hurt Charlie. I was just playin' like I was fightin' a Orc." Andis looked down at his hands, which were lying folded atop his chest. "He said I wasn't a baby no more, and I should know better than to break his rules."

"And he is right, is he not?" Elrohir asked.

Andis then looked at him and said, "But I didn't know it would make him so mad!"

"I think if you will search your heart, you will find that somewhere inside, you knew he wouldn't be pleased to find you breaking one of his rules." Andis looked at his hands again, and Elrohir went on, "What he meant by that was that you are no longer a baby, like Jessa is. He could explain the rules several hundred times to Jessa, and it wouldn't matter, because she truly is not able to understand more complex ideas such as rules. She can understand "no", however, and that is a start. You, on the other hand, do know that it is wrong to break rules, no matter how badly one might want to—don't you?"

Andis looked at Elrohir again and nodded. "Yes, I know... My Papa used to get mad if I did somethin' really bad. Sometimes he would get a switch after me, too. He said he had to teach me right."

Elrohir smiled at Andis' big eyes, as the child remembered being in trouble with his father.

"Lord Glorfindel got angry and sent both you and Charlie away," Elrohir said, bringing them back to the subject they'd been discussing. At Andis' dejected nod, Elrohir went on, "Do you know why he did that?"

"'Cause he was mad…" Andis said logically.

"No, Andis, that isn't why," Elrohir told him. "It was so that you would have time to think about what you'd done. Lord Glorfindel does not allow playing anywhere near sword training, because it is such a serious undertaking. Swords were made for one reason only—to kill. Not to play with at all."

"But my Papa made me a sword to play with," Andis said as if in protest, that his father would never do something wrong.

"Yes, but it is tiny; not meant as a true weapon at all. It is indeed a toy, and a gift of remembrance, from him to you. Which reminds me…" Elrohir got up and went to his wardrobe, opening the door and removing something wrapped in brown paper from the top shelf. He went back and sat beside Andis again, handing the boy the package.

Andis sat up and ripped the paper away and found that he'd uncovered the wooden sword that his father had made for him last Yule, and it had been repaired. He turned it over in his hands and there was his Papa's writing again, almost as good as it was before it had been broken. _For Andis from Papa._

Andis placed the sword beside him and hugged Elrohir again. "Thanks, El-ro-heer. It almost is as good as before."

"Again, I am sorry to have broken it, Andis."

"That's all right, El-ro-heer. Accidents sometimes happen."

Elrohir smiled to hear his words come back to him from the small child's mouth. He smoothed Andis' hair away from his eyes.

"I think you are due for a haircut, my fine friend."

"Aw, do I got to?" Andis asked with a frown.

"Yes, you _have _to." Elrohir straightened the covers over the boy again. "Do you think you can sleep now?" he asked, and even as he said the words, Andis gave a huge yawn. He nodded his head and turned over onto his side as Elrohir rose, taking the toy sword with him.

"Sleep well, Andis."

As Elrohir replaced the sword back in the wardrobe on the very top shelf from where he'd retrieved it earlier, he heard Andis' sleepy voice mumble, "I love you, El-ro-heer…"

Smiling to himself, he said, "I love you, too, Andis…"

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Elrohir heard Andis stirring even before he could hear the footsteps coming toward the bed or felt the small hands on his shoulder, trying to wake him up. Little did the boy know that the Elf didn't ever truly sleep, and when he walked the dream paths these days, it was still with half an eye on Andis during the night.

"What is it, Andis?" he asked quietly. "Did you have another nightmare?" The boy nodded, not thinking about the darkness of the room, but in this case it didn't matter, because Elrohir could see almost as well in the dark as he could when it was light outside.

"Could I sleep with you, El-ro-heer?" the boy asked pitifully.

"Let's not disturb Jeren," he said, as he threw the covers aside and got up, ushering Andis back to his bed. "How about I lie down with you?"

Andis nodded again, and ran the rest of the way back to his bed, getting in and scooting across to make room for Elrohir. The Elf would have to make due, because the bed was small, and his feet hung off the end. As soon as they were both settled, Elrohir asked him, "Are you still afraid, Andis?" He already knew the answer, because he could not only feel the shivering of the child that was snuggled up beside him, he could also hear Andis' teeth faintly rattle as he trembled.

Elrohir put his arm around Andis, remembering doing the same thing for another little Human boy, but long ago. Estel had been plagued by nightmares, too, when he'd found out exactly how his father had been killed.

When the trembling seemed to increase, Elrohir asked, "Would you like to speak of it, Andis?"

Andis didn't answer at first, so Elrohir whispered, "Was it the same dream as before?"

The boy nodded, but then added, "It was, but it wasn't, too."

A little confused, Elrohir asked, "It was the same dream, or it wasn't'?"

"Yes," Andis replied, as if that made total sense to him, and Elrohir supposed that it might have.

"Why do you not tell me about it?"

There was a long silence, but finally Andis spoke, "It started the same… then it switched to being different."

"What was different about it this time?" Elrohir asked.

"W-e-l-l," Andis started, hesitating, as if he were thinking of how to describe it. "This time, when I got mad 'cause Jessa was cryin', I didn't go get my sword to make her hush. I asked Gran if I could hold her instead, because I somehow knew that she didn't mean to be cryin'. She just didn't know how to tell my Momma what was wrong. So Gran told me I was too little to hold Jessa, but that if I'd go sit in the baby's chair, she'd let Jessa sit with me." Andis hesitated again, but then continued, "So I sat with Jessa in the baby's chair—"

"Are you speaking of the rocking chair that was in your parents' room?" Elrohir asked, just making sure he knew exactly what Andis meant.

Andis nodded. "Yes, that one. I sat there with Jessa and then those ugly, mean Orcs started pounding on the door—after my Papa went outside. They got louder and louder and we all got scared-er and scared-er… And finally my Momma screamed—" Andis' breath hitched, but he finished by saying, "I woked up then…"

Elrohir closed his eyes, picturing the scene from Andis' dream. The scared little boy was now thinking about his sister in this recurring nightmare, and not about how angry he was. Elrohir thought that Andis was finished with his revelations, which had stunned and gladden the Elf like nothing else in a very long while. But in a few short minutes, Andis added, "I miss my Gran…"

While sad, this was also something different in Andis' behavior. So far he'd thought of no one else's pain or feelings, other than his father's and his own. He was finally thinking about the other members of his family, and that was indeed a step forward. It would be sad, because now Andis would have to grieve for them, because he'd not allowed his inner self to even think about them yet, much less dwell on their deaths.

"The dream is now over," Elrohir said. "You should think of something else if you can." Elrohir could feel the boy's head nod as it rested against his shoulder.

"I'll try, El-ro-heer," he said. Then he was quiet for several minutes. Elrohir's heart was stabbed with pain, when he could feel a tear fall onto his skin. "I miss my Momma, too," the little boy whispered, and then he sniffled. Elrohir held him closer.

"I know you do, Andis," he said, as he cuddled the boy, gently soothing him in his arms. "All will be well; just try to sleep now."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

As soon as Elrohir knew that Andis was again asleep, he crept out of the tiny bed and out of the room, as well. He went down the hall to his father's suite and let himself inside. He then made his way through the sitting room and into the bed chamber, where his father was in his bed, walking his dream paths.

Not knowing whether his father was deeply unaware or not, he tread carefully, so as not to startle him too badly if he was indeed totally lost in a dream.

"Father…" he whispered lightly. And when he did not receive a response, he said it a little bit more loudly, "Father…"

"Go away," Elrond said after a lengthy pause.

He could hear the drowsiness in his father's voice, so he knew that he'd just disturbed a dream his father would have probably liked better left uninterrupted. If Elrohir left now, his father would simply resume his dream, but his excitement was such that he could not leave this news until the morning.

"Father…" Elrohir said insistently, knowing that now his father at least knew he was in the room. "I must talk to you…"

"Elrohir." This one word, said in this tone, had at times in his life caused chills to run up his spine, if he feared his father's wrath. But tonight, he knew his father would be glad to hear his news, even at the expense of a splendid dream. After all, he could always go back to it later…

Elrohir heard a quickly expelled sigh, as if the Elf lord was as exasperated as he could ever be. Elrond sat up and swung his feet to the floor, quickly lighting the lamp.

"This had better be good," he said, fixing a look at his son that might have killed lesser Elves.

"It is, Father," Elrohir said eagerly. And then he told Elrond of everything that had transpired during this night, from the first time he'd spoken to Andis this evening, until just a few moments ago, when the child had recounted his dream.

By the time he was finished with the telling, Elrond's face had relaxed completely, and his smile was serene—for the first time in weeks.

"Don't you see?" Elrohir asked excitedly. "You were successful! Your healing worked!"

Elrond's smile widened, but he shook his head. "No, Elrohir. I think it was a combination of things that turned this tide. It was some of my healing—some of my dirty trick with Rovain—some of what Glorfindel said and some of the things that you told Andis tonight. And then he put it all together by himself. He is a remarkable child, son."

Elrond got up and walked over to where Elrohir was standing, which wasn't far away to begin with. He hugged his son then, holding him longer than was strictly necessary, because it is a father's right to do so, when the mood strikes him. As he stood back he said, "Thank you for coming to tell me this wonderful news. I might not be able to return to the dream I was having, but that is a small price to pay, in the scheme of things."

He walked with Elrohir back to the door, and he embraced him again. "Thank you, son."

"You already said that," Elrohir replied, trying to lighten the mood.

"I am the father, and the father has a right to repeat whatever he might to his sons, if it is his will to do so."

Elrohir smiled and, as he closed the door behind him, he said, "I love you, Father."

And as he stood with his head against the door, reveling again in Andis' breakthrough, he heard faintly through the wood, "I love you, too, Elrohir…"

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**A/N: Thanks again for your patience, although it wasn't such a long wait as before. Merry Christmas to all, and I hope you like the chapter.  
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	38. Chapter 38

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Ring and all its characters, races and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle-earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

This morning after they'd had their morning meal, which had been quite a bit earlier than usual, Jeren had sought out the Lord of Imladris, to plead her case—or better said—the case on behalf of Charlie and Andis. She'd found him exactly where she knew he would be: in his study, already deep in thought over a scroll stretched out on his desk. The door had been partway open, so she'd not knocked before she entered, and she'd found the Elf lord with his elbows on his desk, his hands folded with the palms together and his fingers held against his lips. His eyes were closed.

"My lord," she'd said, addressing him softly. "Might I have a word with you?" She came to see him this morning as an Imladris scout, who was much subordinate to him, and not as his daughter that he'd come to love.

"So formal, Jeren?" he'd asked, before he'd even opened his eyes.

"It is a serious thing I'm bringing to your attention, and it is in my role as a member of the Imladris force that I seek words with you now." She stood straight and tall, her hands clasped behind her back, showing her respect for the Commander of the entire force of Rivendell.

His weary eyes had opened and he put the scroll aside, folding his hands together atop his desk. His demeanor remained reserved, because it seemed to be what she wanted. "Proceed."

"Cold weather has blown in, my lord," she started. "Cold and very wet weather; and I would plead with you to postpone this journey, since it will cause us to subject the children to the cold and damp. It would not be good for them."

"A little cold and wet has never hurt a healthy Human, Jeren," he replied. "And those two boys are about as healthy as Humans can be."

"Permission to speak freely, my lord?"

"Permission granted," he said, a small smile curving his lips. He rarely saw Jeren as a warrior, and it was doing his heart good to see it now.

"It is more than 'a little' cold and damp out there, at least to those of _my_ race. Elen especially would not approve of this for her son."

He chuckled soundlessly, his smile having grown quite large, and nodding his head, he admitted, "I agree she would not approve. She would have Charlie bundled up so tightly he would be unrecognizable, and then she'd still not allow him outdoors. Yet, I would say the same thing to her that I am saying to you—healthy boys do not need such coddling. In fact, I am of the opinion that it makes them weak; physically weak, if not emotionally so. They must make the journey, and if not now, when? Winter is upon us, and the weather has a habit of not cooperating with one's plans." His smile faded until it was almost a sad one, and looking into her eyes, he said gently, "Request denied."

"Yes, my lord," she answered, but instead of exiting the room, her stance at attention eased, and she went behind his chair to hug him around the shoulders. His hands came up to caress the arms that were encircling him.

"I hate to see _you_ go out into the cold and damp, daughter," he said. "I know how you hate it."

"I will be fine, Father. But I cannot shake this feeling that it's the children who will suffer. Their little fingers and toes freezing—I can just feel the bite of it myself, and it makes me shiver just thinking about it."

"Empathy can be a powerful thing," he said, as she stood straight again. He got up from his chair and took her into his arms for a real hug. "I know this trip is bittersweet for you, but I know you are up for it, Jeren."

She could only wonder at how he could read her, as if her thoughts were written before him. "Yes it is, Father. It will be good to see Elen again, but we'll be leaving both of the boys there, and I've grown quite accustomed to their chatter and constant activity. Everything will seem too quiet when they are no longer present in my life."

He stood back from her and looked into her eyes, his expression doubtful. "Is that all you will miss?"

She let out a long sigh. "No. You know I will miss Andis most of all. We've seen him through so many heartaches and trials," she said, and then she looked down at the front of the Elf lord's robe. "But even that isn't the extent of it." Glancing back up into his eyes, she admitted, "I feel as if I'll not survive the pain when we leave him at the settlement, Father. It was bad enough when Jessa left, but I'd already been trying to ease her out of my total care when Timm came and retrieved her. Elladan helped with that, and willingly. But if I feel this bad about Andis, how must Elrohir feel?" She was appalled when tears stung her eyes.

"You will both recover. Elrohir has had long years and countless occasions to perfect the proper grieving of someone who is no longer in his life; perhaps you can help each other through it."

"I don't know, Father. I feel as if this is different for him this time, for some reason, even though I do not know the extent of his prior attachments. He has told me that Aragorn is the Human he's felt the most love for in his life, and he is a man still alive and in good health."

"Yes, but he isn't under our roof anymore, nor does he spend a great deal of time in our company. I can tell you that Elrohir mourned for him when he left, even though Estel was usually only hours away. That is exactly how the situation with Andis will be. It isn't as though the boy will cease to exist—he will be at the settlement, where both you and Elrohir can visit often."

Feeling as if he truly didn't comprehend what she felt, she said, "I don't understand this feeling—it's as if Andis will be gone from the earth if he's out of my sight—"

She suddenly had thoughts of Celebrian, and how, even though she knew Elrond's wife was alive, it truly seemed as if she weren't. Elrohir had been through this very thing countless times, and not the least of which was when his mother sailed to Valinor. How long had Elrond and Celebrian been separated so far? She had no idea about that, but it made her wonder how long the Lord and his Lady would continue being apart. All of this came to her in just the blink of an eye, and she quickly concluded that no one knew more about missing someone than the Elf lord standing before her now. The thought humbled her, and she smiled through her tears. "I am sorry," she said. "Everything you've just told me is exactly right."

Having no inkling of Jeren's line of thinking, he went on, "I have no experience as a mother, Jeren, but as a father, I can tell you that is exactly how a parent feels, when a child sets out on her own: bereft—as if their offspring has gone from the face of the earth, even though she might be near, as the crow flies."

Jeren could tell that Elrond had purposely brought up Arwen now. His daughter dwelled in Lothlorien, and Jeren truly didn't know how long she had been there. And the two of them had not parted on the best of terms, either. Jeren was starting to feel ashamed of herself for all her whining. If ever anyone had cause to grieve being separated from loved ones, it was certainly this Elf...

Jeren smiled and stepped into Elrond's arms again. Laying her head on his shoulder, she said, "I know you are right. All will be well, even though this feeling now is very unsettling." Pulling away and looking once more into his eyes she said, "Thank you, Father. I needed your wisdom and experience this morning, to see me through this ordeal." She kissed him lightly on the cheek, and stepped backward toward the door. She strengthened her voice and tried to put a spring in her step, so that perhaps he might believe he'd helped lighten her mood. "For an ordeal it will be, but listening to your counsel has made me see that I will survive in the end. Everyone does."

He nodded, saying, "Yes, every _parent_ does survive their children leaving home."

She frowned briefly as if she were confused, but then she smiled again. "Will I see you out in the courtyard?"

"Yes," he answered. "I will be out there shortly. Is it still raining?"

"It was when I peeked out a few minutes ago," Jeren said miserably with a doubtful half-smile on her face. She turned and walked out of the door, leaving it open, just as she'd found it.

He smiled as he watched her retreating form. He didn't think he'd gotten through to her just now. Not completely, anyway. He'd seen it in her eyes when she'd understood about Arwen. She had finally understood that he did completely appreciate her feelings. But he'd wanted to point out that if she but searched her heart, she would find that she felt as a parent was feeling, in regard to Jessa and Andis. He'd hoped to convince her that she had feelings as any mother would, having to be separated from children that she loved, but he doubted that she'd made that particular connection. He was afraid that she would go right on believing that she just wasn't parent material.

It was probably just as well...

His mood truly matched hers as he turned and went to the window, which was beaded with raindrops and difficult to see through clearly. It was dark outside anyway, although that wasn't much of an obstacle for him.

It was dark. Dark and cold. The concept of being cold was one he was unfamiliar with, but he knew Jeren. She rarely complained about anything, so he knew it must be cold outside indeed.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren made her way down the corridor as she went outside to saddle Two, thinking again about the children, and how miserable a trip such as this would be for the boys. She knew that she'd done what she could for Andis and Charlie, but it was not her role to decide the fate of anyone, when it came to Imladris. That decision was for the Lord to make. And he had…

He had also, however, taken one large precaution: since they had two precious lives—two Human lives—in their charge, he had requested that the Arms Master deploy a full regiment of the Imladris force to accompany Elrohir and Jeren when they returned the youngsters to the stronghold. Not only would he not risk the lives of the children, he could not in good conscience send one of his sons and his daughter-in-law out into the Wild alone with two children in their care. If the worst should happen and Orcs attacked the party, the two of them would be too distracted worrying over the fate of the children for them to fight off even a small number of the beasts. He'd shuddered to think about what could have happened when the three of them had brought the children home in the first place. Since Orcs generally traveled in large packs, the odds had definitely been stacked against them.

No, having them go unescorted had never been his plan. He'd conferred with Glorfindel over the number of troops that should accompany them, and together they had decided that nothing but a full regiment would do. After all, the Dúnedain had sent an entire ranger unit with Elladan when they'd escorted Charlie to Imladris. To do otherwise in return would not only be foolhardy, it would invite diplomatic disaster upon Rivendell and alienate centuries-long associations, should something go amiss. Aragorn might be Chieftain now, and Elrond and Elen knew and loved each other, but he doubted that she and her husband would forgive very quickly, should anything happen to Charlie because the Elves of Imladris had not taken proper precaution.

Jeren had been pleasantly surprised when she finally stepped outside and found that the rain was much less than what had been falling when she woke up shivering this morning. She went into the stable and got Two ready for the trail, finally leading the mare outside to join the growing group of horses and riders waiting to be off. After about ten minutes had passed, she looked toward the stable, silently willing Elrohir to emerge with Bunny and the boys. The leader of this unit would defer to him, so when Elrohir was ready—and not before—the lieutenant would give the call to ride.

Jeren tightened the cinch on her saddle, but her fingers were clumsy because of the cold. It had rained earlier, but for now at least, the steady downpour the valley had been experiencing most of the night had slowed to a fine mist. They had been blessed with unseasonably warm weather for so long that she'd been surprised to wake up freezing this morning and had tried to warm up by snuggling closer to Elrohir. She'd berated herself for not taking Anor's word more seriously two days ago, when the weather scholar of Rivendell had told her that the cold was coming and when, but the sun had been shining and the breeze so warm yesterday, that she'd foolishly not believed him. She knew that Anor was rarely wrong. _When would she learn?_

The courtyard in the back of the house was becoming crowded with Elves and their horses. Today was the day they were taking Andis and Charlie back to the settlement, and it seemed as if once a journey was decided on, it was not postponed because of ill weather, no matter what the consequences might be. Not even when the precious cargo they were delivering might be better off if they did.

It was almost time for them to be off, and Jeren could barely tolerate this standing around, when it felt as if she were freezing to her very death. She brushed the hood of her deerskin cloak back a little farther to shed more light on what she sought. Only lanterns cast light on the courtyard this morning; they had more of a chance of staying lit than the torches that were generally used, since the wind and wetness beating against a torch's flame could render it sputtering and next to useless. As she glanced at the stable door again, she wished even harder that Elrohir would emerge. Her teeth chattered with the cold, and again she could feel her heart quake for the children. At least they would be wearing cloaks with hoods like hers that had been oiled until they were mostly waterproof, in the same way the entire Imladris force was outfitted for winter.

Jeren and Elrohir had settled on letting the children decide who would ride Bunny first, and their discussion had been very entertaining to say the least. Andis brought up the fact that Bunny was his, so he should be able to start the trip on the pony's back. Then Charlie commented that he was the guest, so he thought that he should be allowed first chance on Bunny. Before the argument could grow heated, Elrohir then suggested that they draw straws, and Charlie and Andis agreed to let the game decide for them. Andis drew the short straw, so he would begin the day riding in front of Elrohir. He was good about it all, after an initial very short bout of pouting because he'd lost the game.

Jeren rubbed her arms with her hands, trying to warm herself, but it was a hopeless gesture. She thought back to what Anor had told her and grimaced, as she remembered that he'd predicted freezing temperatures for at least three days. That meant that, while it was cold here in Imladris, it would be far colder as soon as they were out of the protected valley. This trip would only last for the day, for the settlement wasn't that far, yet traveling with two little boys, with one of them riding on a pony, necessitated a slower pace. It would be near dark before they arrived at the gates of the stronghold, and that was if nothing went wrong. She shivered but squared her shoulders. She was a soldier with the Imladris force, and there was no room for weakness merely because of the cold. She only hoped that the children had the strong constitutions that Lord Elrond thought they did.

She started toward the stable where she knew Elrohir and the boys to be, hoping to speed them up, but she stopped short when the door opened and they appeared. Elrohir was leading Bunny with Charlie on her back. Andis walked beside them with his hand possessively on Bunny's side, but there was no sign of his earlier pout. Jeren was proud of him for showing he could be a good sport.

"Are you all ready to go?" Jeren asked the group.

Elrohir looked at her, and she could feel his heartache through their bond, yet he said excitedly, "I cannot wait to be on the trail. What an adventure we will have!"

Jeren fretfully ignored her husband's hurting heart, because from the false cheerfulness in his voice, she could tell that he was trying to ignore it too—that as well as keep Andis' spirits up. So she gave him a doubtful glance, but didn't say what was on her mind—that she was unsure as to how adventurous this quest might be, but it was certain to be a freezing and wet one.

"I hope my ar—" Charlie started to say, yet he paused, casting his glance between Jeren and Elrohir, until finally he finished, "bee-hind—doesn't get so sore this time. I could barely sit down for three whole days, when I first came here."

Jeren laughed and tousled the boy's hair, knowing full well he'd fought not to call his rear end what his brothers would have. She'd heard Elen admonish her older boys plenty of times for bandying the word 'arse' about, when speaking of their nether ends.

Elrohir smiled and said, "Not to worry, Charlie. You've been riding every day for almost a month. I daresay your 'bee-hind' will endure quite well."

"I could not let this occasion pass without bidding a final farewell to our two boys," Elrond said, as he walked up to the group. While he had on a long cloak, his hood was down, since the rain had all but stopped. He rested a hand on Charlie's knee. "I hope you will tell your mother that she must bring your father and the other children to see me some day. I would delight in her company again, as well as love seeing your father and the rest of your brothers and your sister."

"I will tell her, sir," Charlie said, behaving in his best manner at the mention of his parents.

"It was very good having you as a guest in our home," he said, as he glanced at Jeren and Elrohir, until his eyes finally lit back on Charlie. "I do hope you will return at some point."

"I will, sir!" Charlie said. "I still have to learn the sword better, and I'm not sure my Mama will let me learn at home."

Elrond smiled. "You will always have a place at my table, Charlie. And I am sure the Arms Master will welcome you back to the Armory. After that one incident with the training swords, he told me you and Andis have been on your best behavior."

"That's right, sir," Charlie said honestly. "I wouldn't like to be in trouble with Lord Glorfedell." Leaning over to whisper into Elrond's ear, he added, "I sure wouldn't want him to give me any licks. His hands are so big, I'll bet my ar—I mean my bee-hind—would be sore for a week!"

Elrond laughed, but didn't tell Charlie's secret to the others, who were standing there waiting with interested faces, as if they expected him to. He then turned to Andis, and those around him could tell that he longed for one more hug from the child, but he didn't want to embarrass the boy by clinging to him in front of one of his peers. He crouched down in front of Andis, unmindful of the puddles that were dampening his robes.

"I will never forget you, child," he said, taking the boy's hands into his. "And I want you to know that you also have a place at my table, should you ever wish to return here. Now you must forge ahead in your life—and I hope it is a good life, indeed."

Andis didn't care who was watching, he flung himself into the Elf lord's arms. Elrond held him close for several seconds, but he heard the call of the lieutenant, telling the riders in the force to mount. Elrohir must have given the signal to be off.

He reluctantly stood with Andis in his arms, and waited for his son to mount Sadron. He then kissed the boy's forehead, and handed Andis up to Elrohir. Jeren couldn't stop herself, when she, too, gave the Elf lord a strong but brief hug. She looked into his eyes, and it was plain to see the pain that was etched in them. _Giving Andis up was going to be hard for her as well, despite the talk they'd had…_

As the riders headed out of the gates Andis looked back and waved to Elrond, but the rain had begun to fall again, with great gusts of wind to drive it along, causing the Elf lord to hasten his way inside, after one brief wave in return.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

It wasn't long until Jeren wondered again at the wisdom of those in charge, having the children out here in the freezing rain. The going was soon difficult, climbing the twisting, winding and muddy trail that led them out of the valley. Charlie rode in front of her and Elrohir, and more than once Bunny stumbled and slid on the rocky path, which at the best of times could be steep and tricky. Before they'd gone halfway up the valley wall, Jeren rode up alongside Charlie, keeping to the outside of the trail, from which the land dropped off steeply into a deep ravine. She didn't know how close Elrohir came to leaping from Sadron's back to steady Two, so near to the edge did the mare's hooves stray.

As soon as she was beside the pony, she insisted that Charlie climb up before her. It was easily accomplished, even though Elrohir kept his watch focused for any trouble that might occur.

Two was saddled, so it wasn't an ideal situation. She feared that Charlie's 'bee-hind' was going to be sore indeed, and hers might be as well, since a saddle meant for one was going to have to hold two. She took up Bunny's reins and began pulling the poor, reluctant pony along at as swift a pace as the horses could accomplish on such a treacherous uphill track.

Above the noise of the rain and wind she could hear some of the Elves grumbling amongst themselves about how worn the path had become, knowing that it would be in their future to come out here and make repairs. It was a duty none of them liked, but even they could see that it needed doing sooner rather than later. They were all just glad that those had not been their orders today.

The rain began pouring in blinding sheets very soon after she'd pulled Charlie from Bunny's back, but not only that, the wind had picked up even more, and it howled like so many banshees, beating themselves against the rocks of the valley walls, seeming almost as wailing companions for the party as it traveled to higher ground. It didn't take long before Jeren was soaked through to the skin, so she knew that everyone else must be, too. It didn't matter to the Elves so much. No one liked to wear wet clothes, nor have their hair plastered to their heads, but the Elves seemed impervious to the cold—unlike her and the children. All three of them were shivering, and Charlie's teeth were chattering loud enough for her to hear them over the sound of the persistent rain. She worried about the boys, but knew that Elrond was right—a healthy Human did not get sick merely from being out in the cold and damp. She should know—she'd been in just this position many a time, without ever once coming down with a cold. She only took sick when she spent too much time at the settlement, when some illness or other was making its rounds through the population at large.

They were not even halfway there, when Elrohir called a halt, but blessedly the rain had stopped once more. Andis was shivering uncontrollably, and the Elf had grown worried about him. He went to the pack horse and removed some dry clothing for both of the boys, and he and Jeren changed them, finally wrapping them each in a dry blanket. Elrohir cut the oilcloth that had been covering the supplies in half, and used a piece to cover each of the children. Jeren started to get back onto Two, but he stopped her, holding his hand out to her. Confused, she reached out to take it, wondering what he was about. But instead of just giving her hand a squeeze, as she expected him to do, he captured it and began sliding a deerskin glove over the fingers of her left hand. It took both of them to get the other glove onto her right one, since the last two fingers were all but dead to her.

"Thank you, Elrohir," she said sincerely, giving him a quick kiss before she got onto Two. But as she turned to face her horse, she found all the other Elves staring at them with wide grins on their faces. She reddened with embarrassment, but she quickly mounted her mare. Elrohir handed Charlie up to Jeren, and then he put Andis back atop Sadron before he leapt up behind him.

As they rode further, Jeren could feel Charlie gradually quit shivering. To her great relief their efforts had worked—so far. And the gloves! They were such a gift! Her hands were still cold, but not achingly so. The rain had all but stopped, and only now and again did it reappear as a fine mist. Only three more hours—if they were lucky—and they'd be at the settlement.

By common consent they did not stop for a meal. It didn't matter to the boys, because now that they were warm, they dozed in their cozy cocoons. Jeren could only endure; she was still deathly cold, and she knew that nothing would help the situation until she was once again inside by a fire, in a tub full of hot water to soak the chill away. She hoped she could convince Elrohir to consent to warming some stones for the foot of her bed. She generally did for herself, but Elrohir had been so sweet to her, thinking about gloves for her hands, that she knew she could never lose enough pride to ask him to wait on her as if she were a princess.

After what seemed an eternity, but was only four hours, the group passed through the gates of the settlement. It was late afternoon, but the weather was such that it seemed more like it was deep into dusk. An hour ago it had begun to snow, adding that much more misery to Jeren's life. There were icy patches on the trail, and every now and again Two slid on one, and Jeren was sure that the last time it had happened, her mare had hurt one of her legs. If Jeren was any judge, it was the left front one. She'd conferred with Elrohir about it, and he watched as Jeren moved ahead.

Since he could not see Two favoring it, he talked Jeren into continuing. He knew how she hated the cold, and that she would only be colder if they took the time to remove the saddle from Two and put it on the pack horse, especially when he knew there was truly no need. It was one of those more minor injuries that an alert rider could feel as they rode, but which didn't make the horse obviously limp.

Jeren would speak with the stableman as soon as she could and ask that he treat the mare for lameness. With any luck, Two would bounce back quickly, and not have to be replaced by another horse. Elrohir and Jeren were going back out as scouts, directly after they were finished with their business at the settlement. Glorfindel had given them a territory to cover before they left, and Jeren truly did not want it to be necessary to leave Two behind.

Elrohir slipped inside the main hall with both of the children, to wait for Jeren while she tended to business with the stable man. The hall was abuzz with activity over in Aragorn's 'office', but James happened to be standing just inside the door, and he whisked his son into his arms the moment he laid eyes on him.

"Charlie, my lad," he said as he hugged the boy. "'Tis good to see you again! How was your adventure in Rivendell?"

Charlie sat back in his father's hold and began talking so quickly, James had to ask him to stop and start over. "Now what are you telling me?" James asked.

Charlie pointed to Andis, who was standing beside Elrohir. "Look, Pa, this is Andi, and he's my bestest friend in the whole world!"

"Is he, now?" James asked, as he set Charlie back on his feet. He stayed bent over and offered Andis his hand. "'Tis pleased I am to meet you, Andi."

Andis shook the man's offered hand. "M' lord," he said in reply.

James smiled as he stood up and aimed his next words at Elrohir. "Elen will be so pleased." The look on James' face told of the trials he'd borne, while Charlie had been out of Elen's care. "I'm not sure Elladan's plan worked. She spent more time fretting over her son's absence than she did being calm and staying quiet. Quiet and Elen don't usually go hand in hand, you know." James gave a hearty laugh, and it screamed of relief to Elrohir. "But that's the way of life, isn't it? She'll be thrilled to have all her chicks in her nest again."

Jeren joined them then, and all of them made their way to Elen and James' cabin. As soon as they were inside, they got out of their capes and draped them where they could to dry. Since the boys were cold but not wet, they headed to the fire to warm their hands and quickly devised some game or other to occupy themselves. Jeren had brought a change of dry clothing for her and Elrohir, and they changed in the loft where all of Elen's children slept. By the time they were finished, James had them each a hot cup of tea waiting, which Jeren gratefully held in both hands, trying in vain to warm them.

After they'd had their tea, James got up from the table. "I think it is high time we woke the woman of the house," he said, but as James placed his hand on the bedroom door handle, he put a finger to his lips. "Shhh, now," he said to Charlie. "Let's surprise your Mama. She should be ready to wake up from her nap about now."

"Mama's takin' a _nap_?" Charlie asked explosively, completely shocked at this unusual behavior of hers, and James stifled a laugh, quickly putting a hand over the boy's mouth as he shushed him again. "Yes. She is going to have a brother or sister for you, and she needs more rest whilst she's in the family way."

Charlie scrunched up his nose and looked at Jeren, as if to ask if she knew what his father was talking about, but Jeren shrugged her shoulders and, shaking her head, just put her finger to her lips, too. James slowly opened the door. He took Charlie's hand and whispered something into his ear, and then pushed him gently into the room. Charlie ran inside as they all watched from the doorway.

There was a lamp burning low, so Charlie had no trouble finding his way about. He stopped beside the bed, and Elen was indeed asleep—the others could hear her soft snoring from where they stood. The woman was on her side, with her face toward the door. Jeren looked at Elrohir and smiled, and Elrohir then picked Andis up from the floor.

Charlie leaned over his mother and kissed her on the cheek. Elen brushed at the place on her face where his lips had touched, as if she were sweeping a tendril of hair away. Then Charlie leaned closer, and said in a sing-song voice, and none too quietly, "Maaa-ma, guess who's ho-ome?"

Elen raised herself onto one elbow, as her eyes fluttered open and her jaw dropped, but it took no longer for her to exclaim, "Charlie! My Charlie! You're home! Bless me, you're home!" And as she sat up, swinging her feet to the floor, she grabbed the child, pulling him onto her lap, kissing him over and over again, as if her heart were so full, it just may burst.

Charlie, on the other hand, while he'd missed his mother quite a bit, was becoming embarrassed by her enthusiastic welcome home, and he began scrubbing at his cheeks, as if to wipe her kisses away.

James decided it was time to rescue his son, and he strode toward the bed and lifted Charlie away from his wife. "I need some time with Charlie, as well," he said, in hopes to not hurt his wife's feelings by telling her she was inadvertently torturing their son. As soon as her lap was empty, Elen glanced toward the small crowd at the door.

"Jeren! Elrohir! 'Tis glad I am to see you, too." She stood and walked toward them, her arms outstretched, and both Jeren and Elrohir walked toward her and were folded into her strong embrace. She pulled back, and let her hands close around Jeren's shoulders, and Jeren was shocked to see the sadness that had overtaken her aunt's face.

"I was so distraught when I heard of your injury, Jeren," she said, and Jeren relaxed again, thinking that at least it wasn't bad news that had her aunt frowning. She'd thought that someone might have died in her absence, someone Jeren knew, but that Elladan might not have thought to relate to her.

"I'm hale, Auntie," she said. "Except for these two fingers." She held up her right hand then, flexing it a few times to show her lack of control of the last two digits on it.

Elen took the hand into her grasp and kissed it. "You certainly seem to be fine—and maybe even better than that!" she said. "It's been over a year since I've seen you, child, and my imagination has been running away with me."

"You could have come to Imladris to see _me_!" Jeren said, her face lighting up in a way that told of her teasing.

"Oh you—!" Elen fussed, but then she smiled. "Speaking of visiting Imladris, I've heard the most wonderful news!" She too a step back from them. "A little bird—named Elladan—," she said as she gave a short laugh, "told me that the two of you were wed!" She hugged them even more fiercely than she had at first. And then she frowned. "Yet I still think it might have been my privilege as your aunt to attend! And I wasn't even invited!"

"I am sorry Auntie," Jeren said, trying not to laugh, "but there was no time! We decided to bond—and we did. It was very special and I would have loved having you there. But the rite was simple and short; hardly long enough to even get dressed up for!" Elrohir looked at her askance, but she didn't elaborate, she turned toward Andis, whom Elrohir had placed on his feet before bracing himself for Elen's onslaught.

"This is Andis, Auntie," Jeren said as introduction, trying hard to distract her aunt's attention from her and her failure to be a proper niece.

Elen stood up straight, with her hands on her hips, as if appraising the boy, to see if he were up to her standards. After only a brief few seconds, it seemed she was satisfied, for she smiled as she crouched before him, offering her hand in greeting. "'Tis pleased I am to meet you, Andis."

Charlie squirmed out of his father's grasp and ran toward his mother and Andis. "Mama, this is Andi—he's my bestest friend in the whole world!"

"You don't say?" Elen asked, as if her son were imparting a very important secret. She ran her hand over Charlie's shining brown hair, and anyone watching could see she was thanking her stars for her son's return. Looking at Andis, she said, "I want to thank you for being Charlie's friend. He knew no one in Rivendell except Jeren, so I was afraid he'd be lonely, since she's so busy. And wouldn't you know it? There was Andis, ready to be his friend. I am grateful to you, Andis, for being such a nice boy!"

"That's all right. It was fun! I'd not ever had a friend a'fore." Andis smiled, obviously loving the attention of a woman who was a mother in every fiber of her being. Jeren had tried her best, but she hadn't truly understood the finer nuances of dealing with children, not as Elen did, a woman who virtually lived by them.

Elen laughed and then stood, turning toward Jeren and Elrohir again. "It was fortuitous of you to have sent word of your arrival ahead, because James and me—and Timm and Jeananne—thought it might be better to have us all together at first," Elen said, with an obvious glance at Andis. "We have arranged for both or our families to dine together tonight. Along with the two of you, of course… We've decided to set a table for us all in the main hall, utilizing most of Aragorn's office, since he isn't here and isn't likely to be for some time, they say. There are too many of us for eating in one of these small cabins, but too few for commandeering the entire dining hall."

After this prolonged speech, Elen made as if to go into the main room of the cabin, but Elrohir stopped her with a hand on her arm. "Should you be up?" he asked her solemnly, not wanting to call her wrath down on him, but concerned for her well-being in spite of the risk.

She placed her hand on top of his. "I am better than fine these days," she said. "Elladan has allowed me to resume my regular duties, as long as I agree to nap in the afternoons—as well as take some of his tonics." She smiled sweetly, which was their clue that even that bit of compliance was almost more than she could stomach. "And that isn't much of a sacrifice, if I can go about my business the rest of the time." She gave Elrohir's hand a pat before she removed it from her arm, and then she continued as she breezed past them, "_but_ he has everyone here coddling me so, that I can barely lift a finger!" And here, her voice had risen to a near grating tone, although she kept it as light as she could.

Andis exchanged an uneasy look with Charlie, but Charlie put his arm around Andis' shoulders and said, "Don't mind her… She sounds scary sometimes, but she's not… Not really… She's not mad... At least not with us little-un's. It's the big folks, she says, that about do her in!"

Jeren had to stifle a bark of laughter against Elrohir's shoulder, because from the mouth of a child had come the perfect description of Elenmere.

"I know you all must be famished," Elen said as she gathered her cloak and pulled out an old one for Charlie. She 'tsked' when she realized she didn't have another that would do for Andis; both of the boys' cloaks had been wet and left on the pack horse. Since the rest of her brood was already at the hall, she could not filch one from one of the older boys. "Elrohir," she directed, as she grabbed a blanket that had been draped across the back of the sofa, "bundle that child up and carry him, won't you? We mustn't take chances with them getting wet out in this cold weather."

Elrohir agreed, but he shared a look with Jeren that said that both children had been soaked to the bones a few hours ago, and they were none the worse for the wear. Even so, he did as Elen had instructed, and soon they were out the door and over to the main hall to meet the others.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren had brief feelings of trepidation, as she realized how unkempt she must look. It had been long since she'd graced any of the halls of the settlement, and here she was, showing up with hair that had been wetted by rain and snow and buffeted by a rising wind. She then thought about where she was—the stronghold, not Imladris, with all its splendor and Elves who rarely looked less than perfect. She had never given any thought to her appearance at all when she was a ranger, and many was the time when she'd hauled her bedraggled self into the dining hall for sustenance longed for, when she was even more unkempt than she was tonight. And then she suddenly realized that she'd been so wrapped up in the children, she hadn't thought at all about how it would feel to be here again.

Then another thought startled her—where would she and Elrohir sleep? They could not stay in the same room that Elrohir had once shared with Elladan. That would be awkward in the extreme. She supposed the two of them could stay in the loft, unless someone else had decided to claim it as theirs. It was extremely small, but she and Rhyse had slept in that bed more than once…

That thought brought her up short. Rhyse was more than likely here, and by now she was sure that he'd heard she was wed to Elrohir. She didn't suppose it had come as much of a shock to him. And who even knew if he would be here at present? He could be out on patrol, but usually the rangers tried to stay in the stronghold as much as they possibly could during the winter. They used the time to repair their old gear and help the tanners tan the hides they took late in the fall, from cattle that were slaughtered just before the cold hit. They would then ultimately fashion it into new saddles, bridles and reins.

But what if Rhyse _was_ here? What did it really matter? They'd resolved all their differences before he'd left Imladris the last time, so she had no reason to feel awkward or strange around him. Yet still… They'd loved each other once; made love to each other many times. She couldn't forget that.

Glancing at Elrohir as he greeted Jeananne, she felt a pang of sorrow for him—how would it make him feel to see Rhyse again, knowing that his wife had once shared the man's bed?

She shook these thoughts off and came back to the present, because they were leading her nowhere but around in circles.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Elladan was in the hall when they arrived, holding Jessa, and Jeananne and Claire, Timm's daughter of twelve, were there, busy putting the finishing touches on the meal they were about to serve. Jamesica was bustling about, placing the last of the plates on the table, which was laden with plain fare—mainly meat and potatoes and bread—since it was onto winter and most greens were out of season.

Timm and two of Elen's boys had just come in from outside, with snow covering their heads and the shoulders of their cloaks. They were each carrying a load of firewood. Sean, Timm's eight-year-old son, took the top log off of Timm's load of wood as Timm bent down for him. The boy set the log next to the huge stone fireplace, which took up most of one wall. Then Elen's other two sons hurriedly helped Timm and their brothers stack the remaining wood in a rack next to the hearth. As soon as they were done, Timm took up the log that Sean had set aside and placed it on top of the burning wood that was already afire in the grate.

The hall was bustling with noise and activity, so unlike the dining hall at the Last Homely House, that all Andis could do was stare with his mouth open. Elrohir put a hand on the boy's shoulder, and Andis looked up at him. At first his face wore a frown, but after only seconds, he smiled.

Elrohir crouched down to Andis' level. "What do you think of all these busy people?" he asked. "Have you ever seen anything like it?" The Elf tried to put amazement in his tone, so Andis wouldn't feel as if he were the only person completely out of place.

"They sure are busy," Andis said, looking back to the people hurrying around. Even Charlie had gotten caught up in the hubbub, since Elen apparently wasn't finished quizzing her son about all that he'd done while he'd been visiting in Rivendell. Truthfully, though, everyone knew she was feeling the need to keep her last-born close, at least for the time being.

Jeren made her way tentatively toward Elladan, wanting so badly to see Jessa again. But she held back, truly not knowing if it would be good for the little girl. She'd just gotten used to her new family and surroundings. Would it be fair to remind Jessa of what she had left behind in Rivendell?

In the end, Jeren's longing to see the baby won, so she went toward Elladan, and when she reached him, she looked at Jessa and smiled, running her fingers through the baby's fine blond hair. Jessa shrank back and put her head on Elladan's shoulder. She frowned around the fingers she stuck into her mouth, as if she didn't know who this stranger before her was.

Jeren thought her heart would break—it never occurred to her that Jessa would so soon forget her. All the nights of teething she and the baby had suffered through together, the endless hours in the rocking chair...

"Oh come now, Jessa," Elladan said, patting her back with one hand. "Who is this?" he asked, pointing to Jeren. He got no response from the baby, other than her burrowing her face into his hair at the side of his neck.

Jeren had already turned around thinking to go find Elrohir, but she could hear Elladan behind her prompt Jessa again as she stepped away. "Aw Jessa," he said with his voice light and playful, "you know who she is… I think it must be Jeren!"

To her surprise, from behind her she heard a baby voice say, "Jewi?" Jeren smiled at hearing the name, spoken mostly in baby language—Jerri, she supposed it was, the word that Jessa had always called her when she was trying to say Jeren's name. She turned around and sped back to Jessa, and when she reached them, this time the baby eagerly leaned toward her, smiling.

Jessa babbled to Jeren for several moments, and Jeren kissed the child over and over, breathing in her baby smell, touching her soft skin. Much too soon, Claire came by to check on Jessa, and the baby was ready to be held by someone else. Jeren watched Claire carry Jessa away, with a smile on her face and tears in her heart.

Before long the meal was ready and on the table, and people began to sit at places as Elen and Jeananne directed them. James and Timm sat at each end, and then the families sat on one side of the table or the other. Jeren and Elrohir had been spit up, with Jeren seated beside Elen, and Elrohir on the other side of James. Andis was seated between Elrohir and Charlie, because Charlie refused to sit with his brothers, opting instead to be by his 'bestest friend'. Jessa was placed on a pillow in one of the chairs, with Elladan on one side of her and Jeananne on the other.

The sitting order had not been left to chance. That had been decided before the Elves from Imladris had even darkened the gates of the settlement this afternoon. Elen and Jeananne wanted Andis to feel comfortable right from the start, and they thought that not forcing strangers upon him the minute he stepped in the door was the right way to handle the situation.

As soon as the meal was finished, Timm took the time to name every person at the table so that Andis would not feel like such an outsider, being the only one there who did not know everyone. Even Jessa knew everyone there, since she'd had a month to gradually get used to her new place to live. Jeananne truly looked as if she'd grown to love Jessa already, and young Claire was delighted with having a baby in the house and tried to help with her as much as she could. Andis paid strict attention to the names, as if he didn't want to be caught forgetting someone when it might be important.

When the introductions had been made and dessert finished, Timm and James excused their children, along with Andis and Jessa. Claire was given total charge of the baby, and it obviously made her happy to have her mother's trust, while the adults talked of important things that the children need not be privy to. Timm and James took Andis and Charlie—and Sean as well—to start them at playing a game that the parents had had the foresight to provide for just this instance. While the men were away, the women—including Jeren—cleared away the dishes, taking them to a large tub in one corner. It had been filled with boiling water that the older boys had fetched from the dining hall. As soon as they had all the dishes and crockery soaking, the women returned to the table to find that James and Timm had gotten back while they'd been busy.

When everyone was at the table again, Timm said, "I know there is much to understand about Andis and his care, and I suppose we all should hear it, since Andis and Charlie are now 'bestest friends'…" He stopped and chuckled, smiling at Charlie's parents, but then went on, "…and in that case, I think that James and Elen should hear everything, too."

He'd directly addressed Jeren and Elrohir, and they looked discomfited as everyone's eyes became trained on them. For an uncomfortable few seconds, neither Jeren nor Elrohir spoke, but then Elrohir simply said, "There isn't much to know, really. He tends to have nightmares while he sleeps, and usually all it takes is some quiet talking about something else to steer his mind away from his cares. I sometimes lie down with him—even though he asks to come sleep with me almost every time."

"Has he had any more—incidents—at night?" Timm asked warily, "where he rises and seems awake?" He wasn't acting as if Andis were damaged, only as if he wanted to do everything in his power to make sure the child was comfortable in his new home. He also had to know this, because he could not take any chances with the other children, either, especially Jessa.

"No," Elrohir answered. "That only happened once, but the nightmares are fairly frequent, although we hope that they might grow fewer over time. My father stepped up the pace of Andis' mind healing after Andis had walked in his sleep. It took almost an entire month, but the boy finally came through and realized that Jessa was not the cause of their parents' deaths.

"He is still not overly fond of her, but I believe this attitude was probably formed early on—simple annoyance of a brother toward a younger sister. I'm sure he feels this way because he was no longer the youngest and privy to most of his mother's attention after Jessa was born." Elrohir looked at Timm directly, before he asked the question that was on his mind. "What about Sean? He has been the only boy as well as the youngest in your household. Has he shown any jealousy or upset at Jessa's coming to live with you?"

Timm smiled. "Luckily, his sister loves the baby so much, that his mother and I do not have to divide our attention to the extreme. Sean has had a cross word or two aimed at Jessa, but we remind him of the children's plight—how they've lost their parents, and that we are the only family that they have. He understands what we've told him, even though he 'forgets' every now and again. But then, he's only eight…"

"I understand, Elrohir, that both you and Andis have grown quite fond of each other," Jeananne put in. "What do you think we should do? Do you think it wise to make a clean break with the boy, so as not to prolong his upset?" Her face was kind and her tone compassionate, and it made Elrohir relax completely.

"I think it would probably be for the best—at least for Andis," Elrohir said, a sad smile on his face. "I think that he will make the transition to your family easily. Yet I also think the hardest time will be during the nights, for obvious reasons. During the day he will have Charlie's company—and Sean's, if Sean takes a liking to him and doesn't think he's too young to play with him and his friends."

"So tonight, then?" Jeananne asked. "Shall we start tonight? Or is it too soon?" The woman was obviously concerned. She understood that the boy had just come in from a very long trip and had to be tired. That might not be the best time to start a new venture, and well she knew it. "To be thrust into life with strangers, at night, after a long, tiresome journey?" She looked at Jeren and Elrohir a little uneasily, and anyone watching could tell that she was simply worried about making a mistake right from the start. It was as if she believed that Elrohir, being an Elf, must be a healer or reader of minds, just as she thought his father was.

But the Elf truly didn't know the best course to take, so he decided to compromise. "How about we take our cues from Andis? We can act as if it's a foregone conclusion that he will be staying with you tonight. And that way, he can also take cues from us—if we aren't worried or fretful, chances are he might react in a like manner." He glanced at Timm then. "Andis took to you right away, so I think perhaps it might be best for you to deal with his nightmares, should any plague him."

"If it would help, Charlie could stay," Elen said, and everyone knew what a sacrifice she was making; they could hear it in her voice. She'd just gotten her son back, and she was now offering to have him away for the night. James took hold of her hand, one that had been lying on top of the tablecloth.

Jeren reached for Elen's other hand, lacing her fingers with her aunt's. "Mayhap we should do as Elrohir has proposed about that as well; wait and see what Andis does. If he's fearful of Elrohir leaving him tonight, we could then suggest Charlie stay with him." She then looked with trepidation at her husband and asked, "But what if nothing consoles him? What if the entire idea upsets him, and he will not be parted from you?"

Elrohir looked at Jeananne again, and his expression had become uncertain, because the suggestion he thought to put forth might not be seemly to her. "Could I, perhaps, stay with him…" he said cautiously, "in your house, should it be necessary?" He'd made it a question instead of a demand, and he'd spoken hesitantly, knowing he was treading on unfamiliar ground by inviting himself to stay over in the first place. These people truly did not even know him, just as they did not really know Andis.

Jeananne looked thoughtful for a moment, not at all as if she'd been offended by his proposal, and gradually she smiled. "Yes, I think that might be the answer. We'll watch how Andis reacts. If he's merely uneasy, we'll put Timm to the task—he has a way with children, as you might have already noticed. If nothing helps, then yes, I think you should stay. The quicker he can become accustomed to our home, the better. We can bring Jessa and Claire into our room for the night, if it becomes necessary. Yes, I like this plan. What do you think, Elen?"

Elen smiled brightly, although everyone there could see the fatigue in her eyes. "I think it should do well for the poor boy's first night. What say we get the dishes done, so that we can put the plan into action?"

With that she got up, but Jeren and James looked at each other and, since they each still had hold of one of her hands, pulled her back down to her chair.

Jeren looked at her with longing in her eyes, and said, "Auntie, could we let the others do them just this once, and mayhap catch up on our visiting?" She then looked at Jeananne, and the woman was smiling, approving of Jeren's attempt to keep Elen off her feet.

"Of course, that's what you should do!" Jeananne exclaimed. "Why Jamesica and Claire and I will have this chore finished in the blink of an eye. Worry not about it, either of you."

Elen pursed her lips, her gaze first boring into her husband's eyes and then into Jeren's. "I hope the two of you do not think I'm not wise to your plan, but since my healer sits across from me, with his brows raised to see how I might answer, I think I will choose my words with care." Elladan laughed at the face she was making, as if she'd been offered a large plate of dung and had been commanded to eat it! But Elen was trying to follow his orders, so she decided to not make a scene. "As long as I am being told I must rest, and everyone here is in on this torture—" She'd stopped midsentence to look pointedly at Jeananne, who simply beamed a smile at her. "—then I suppose I will abide by the rules. But I want to do so on my own terms." She rose from her chair, determinedly pulling her hands away from the two co-conspirators, and said, "Let's go to the cabin, where we can all put our feet up."

She thanked Jeananne with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and left with James on one arm and Jeren on the other.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Elladan gladly took Jessa while the ladies were busy in the kitchen, and Elrohir also remained behind, to help Timm watch the boys as they played. The three of them drew some of the chairs up to the fire to sit in as they passed the time.

Elrohir wanted to talk to Timm about Andis; tell him different things he might need to know. Like how the boy loved sausage for breakfast. And how he loved to ride his pony. They talked about the sword training lessons that both boys had been having with Glorfindel, and how they had made mistakes, but had later made up for them with their best behavior, not breaking another of Glorfindel's rules for the rest of that week.

"Will you allow Andis to continue the lessons, Timm?" Elrohir asked him hopefully.

The man looked at the Elf uncomfortably for a few seconds, but then he answered, "I think not, Elrohir."

As Elrohir grimaced and opened his mouth to interrupt, Timm went on, not allowing him to. "I have been thinking long about my life lately. And I cannot see myself staying a ranger, while my children grow up hardly knowing their father. I suppose this injury to my hand was a blessing in disguise, because it made me sit still and pay attention. There were so many things I didn't know about my own children, and that is a sorry state of affairs in any family.

"Had I not been a stubborn mule and had made amends with my brother, he might have told me what a mistake I was making. He'd been a ranger, too, you see. And when he was injured because of my hesitation in battle, I took the guilt I deserved, but wouldn't listen when he tried to tell me that I _hadn't_ ruined his life. I've thought back on some of our last conversations, and I've realized that I put meanings to his words that he might not have intended. How foolish people can be sometimes…"

They sat quietly for a few minutes, and then Timm said, "I realize that I haven't explained my answer yet, but I'm coming to that. I think every lad needs to know how to protect himself and his family. But I still will not have the time to teach him myself, even being here all the time, nor do I think that he need start at such a tender age."

Elrohir had been slouching in the chair, with his ankles crossed in front of him, but he suddenly sat up. "Bad things have happened to Andis, Timm, and they've happened to him at a very tender age. When better would there be for him to learn that he isn't defenseless? Yes, he's very young. Even Elladan and I did not begin learning weapons until we were well beyond Andis' age. But we'd not had one of our parents slaughtered in front of our eyes, either. Jeren was taught very early on about weapons and fighting. She was so young, Anardil started her with a long knife, because she hadn't had the strength to wield anything larger. And her knowledge of fighting ended up saving her life—more than once, my friend."

Timm smiled unexpectedly. "Anardil was my superior officer when I was a raw recruit. He was tough, but we all respected and loved him, for he would do anything in his power to help any of us. Would that he was still with us…"

Elrohir's smile was regretful. _Would that Anardil had shown some of his loyalty to his own daughter_…

"Glorfindel could tell you some stories of things he's seen in his life that would turn your bones to jelly," Elladan put in, "and he began learning weapons when he was no older than Sean is. With the way the world is growing more perilous, I think we should begin training our youngsters sooner than has been the usual custom up till now."

Timm thought about that for a minute. "I don't suppose I have any true objection to him learning. I think every lad needs to know about weapons so that he can fend for himself. Getting back to what I was explaining earlier, I intend to quit rangering and stay near at hand, farming or perhaps raising cattle for meat. And if those are my plans, my time will be taken up during the day, so I would not be able to teach him, even _if_ I believed that Andis was old enough for learning this type of thing." He looked at both of the Elves in turn. "Children cannot stay innocent for long these days, and in this case, Andis certainly has not. Yet I would not push him toward adulthood too quickly—even now, with all he's been through."

Elrohir wanted to be angry with Timm for being so bullheaded, but he found that he could not. He had to respect a man, who held strong opinions and wasn't easily swayed. It was how Men survived in this world in which they all lived. But they also survived by knowing their weapons, and Andis had not only been doing well at weapons training, he'd thrived on it. It seemed to feed an inner need in the boy. Elrohir only hoped that Timm would relent; he didn't want Andis to lose heart.

"Perhaps we could also see how Andis reacts in this instance, as well?" Elladan asked. "I am sure that Glorfindel taught him from the very first day, that the exercises he was learning were the basis for all movements in swordplay. If we find Andis continuing to do them, we will know he was indeed serious about learning. And if he is that serious, then it is my opinion that he should be taught.

"Of course, my opinion counts little in this matter, Timm; I understand that. All we are asking is that you keep an open mind."

"I certainly will do that, Elladan," Timm replied. "As I said before, it is not his learning that I am averse to, it is his youth. If Andis shows he is mature enough to continue with the exercises on his own without prompting, I agree with you—he is mature enough to learn the sword. I will work something out to find him a teacher."

It was at that moment that Jeananne and Claire walked up to them. Jamesica had gone on home, to see if her mother had need of her. As Elrohir and Elladan stood at the ladies' approach, Claire took Jessa from Elladan and perched her on one hip, and the baby was soon busily playing with the girl's long brown hair.

Timm got up to gather the boys. It was time to put tonight's plan into action…

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"Time to put things away and go to the cabin!" Timm announced to the boys, who had been playing a few feet away. Judging from the chorus of "Aww, do we have to?" and "I was almost winning!" it was sure that the children had been having much fun playing together.

"Yes, you have to, and I'm sorry you will not have a chance to win tonight," Timm replied, "but tomorrow will be here soon enough and as soon as you've had breakfast, you may start all over again."

The boys had taken the game that Timm and James had started them on and had 'improved' it, so that there was much laughing involved. Elrohir hated to force them to quit, but he knew they would have fun with it again tomorrow. He watched Andis' face as he interacted with the others, putting the pieces of the game together. The child seemed right at home. He hoped those feelings remained, long enough to get him into bed and asleep.

Claire handed Jessa to Elladan and offered to take Charlie to Elen's cabin. But Charlie was stunned, and he surprised everyone when he exclaimed loudly, "I want to go where Andis is going! He's my friend and we always sleep in the same place!"

Suddenly Andis' eyes darted to Elrohir's. It was as if Charlie's pronouncement had made him finally realize what this all meant. He ran to the Elf and took his hand, standing there while Sean and Timm put the game away. Even though Elrohir prompted Andis to go help them, the child would not budge.

Timm crouched down to Charlie's level and said, "Go ask your Ma and Pa if you may stay. If they say yes, then come right over. You're always welcome in our home." He tousled the youngster's hair and Claire took Charlie's hand, the proper young lady ready to be helpful.

"Bye, Andis..." Charlie said forlornly as Claire led him away. It was as if he already knew what his Mama was going to say.

Andis was silent all during their trip to Timm's cabin, and he never let go of Elrohir's hand. He suffered through the washing of his face and the putting on of a sleeping shirt, as Timm did likewise with Sean. Andis never uttered a sound, until Elrohir started to leave.

"El-ro-heer," Andis said fretfully, reaching for the Elf's hand again. "Could I go with you?" His face looked as if he thought he was about to be deserted by the last friendly person on earth.

"Aw, Andis," Sean said with a frown, "Don't go. You can sleep in my bed with me! It's big. We'll both fit."

Andis looked at Sean as if he were tempted, but turned back to look at Elrohir. "I _could_ stay," the child said, "but I'm afraid El-ro-heer will be too lonely. And what if he has a nightmare? Who will talk to him when he's scared?"

Elrohir winked at the boy as he sat Andis down on the bed. He then squatted down to look him in the eyes. "Jeren will talk to me if I get scared. And I'll bet Timm will talk to Sean if he has a nightmare. And I _know_ he'll talk to you if you have need of him. This cabin isn't that large, and I think you would be able to go find Timm if you needed to."

Andis threw himself at Elrohir, and the Elf could feel the little boy's speeding heart, beating as if he were a small, frightened bird. It felt like the hardest thing he'd ever done, when Elrohir gently pulled Andis' arms away. Whispering, he said, "You can do this, Andis. Always remember that I love you, and I have faith in you." He smiled reassuringly, even though he felt little peace himself. "But if you truly get scared, Timm will come find me, and I'll be here so fast, you will not be able to believe it!" He looked into Andis' tear filled eyes, wanting very badly to pick the child up and take him away with him, but he knew that wasn't possible, and the sooner Andis got used to being here with his new family, the better off he would be.

Andis leaned back, seemingly encouraged by what Elrohir had told him. "I love you, too, El-ro-heer." He scooted up higher in the bed and put his feet beneath the blankets, and Elrohir rose and covered him, tucking him in. "I will see you on the morrow, Andis."

Elrohir turned and left the room, while Timm stayed inside. He flattened his back against the closed door, trying to hold himself together, at least until he could find a place where he could be alone and let his sorrow out where no one would be the wiser. But Jeananne was at the table by the stove, nursing a cup of tea. She got up from her chair and walked toward Elrohir, and he could tell by her face that she'd guessed his pain.

She held out a hand to him and he took it, allowing her to lead him back to her table. She poured another cup of tea and set it before him. He thanked her and took a sip.

Jeananne said nothing, she just quietly sat there with him. When his cup grew cold, she rose again, emptied it out and filled it once more. They sat there together for quite a while and at long last Timm came out of the room where the boys were sleeping, closed the door quietly behind him and walked toward them.

"They're both asleep," he said, then looking at Elrohir, he added, "I know this is hard for you. Andis may not be of your blood, but anyone watching the two of you together, would know of your bond. I want to thank you for finding him and rescuing him. He and Jessa are all I have left of my family. If not for you and your brother and Jeren, I'd have never known what had become of them, and if Andis and Jessa had survived the Orcs, they'd have died alone and unaided."

Elrohir nodded his understanding, but still couldn't speak. He wanted to tell the man that he cared nothing of rescues and aid, his heart was with that boy in the other room, and it felt as if parting from him would tear it asunder. Yet he said none of those things; he sat quietly and sipped at the tea that Jeananne had given him.

"I hope it helps to know that Andis went right to sleep. He was a tired child." Elrohir smiled wanly, but kept his silence. "You are welcome to stay out here all night, if you wish," Timm added. We could make a pallet and you could lie in front of the fire…"

"That won't be necessary," Elrohir was finally able to say. "I am sure Jeren is wondering what has become of me, but if you wouldn't mind, I would sit here for a little while longer… Just in case he wakes."

"We do not mind," Jeananne said, and she slipped her hand across the table, placing it on top of the Elf's before her.

And they all sat there for another hour, until finally Elrohir was satisfied that Andis wasn't going to wake up anymore tonight. He thanked them for their help and left.

The brisk snow-ridden north wind didn't bother him as he made his way to Elen's cabin. It was still fairly early, so he wanted to see if Jeren was still there. He knocked briefly, but didn't wait for a call to enter; he could hear voices within and Jeren's was among them.

She stood the minute he walked in the door, and ran to him as soon as he closed it. "How did it go?" she asked. "Was he afraid? I'm sorry I didn't come back… It seems I am a coward, after all…"

He smiled at her and hugged her again. "It is well that you weren't there with me. With reinforcements, I just might have made a stand for him and brought him back with me despite Timm and Jeananne." She turned around and with their arms at each other's waists, they went back to the table where James was sitting.

"We put Elen to bed about an hour ago. Elladan's tonics tend to render her sleepy…" he said, sporting a devilish smile. He quickly sobered and went on, "When Charlie returned with Claire, it was hard to tell him that he couldn't go back to Timm's house to be with Andis unless he was called for. We convinced him to get ready for bed and he sat with his mother in front of the fire until he dozed off." James nodded toward the rocking chair deeper inside the room. "Charlie tried to stay awake, but the early morning and hard trip he had today did him in. He will be fine in the morning." He got up from his chair and placed his cup on the drain board beside the sink. "You're both welcome to stay," he continued. "There's bedding in yonder cupboard, if you wish to make a pallet before the fire."

"That's all right, James," Elrohir said. "We have somewhere else to go." He glanced at Jeren and found her looking quizzically at him. "It's a surprise…" was all he'd say.

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**A/N: Another chapter under my belt. And it is long and for that I am sorry. Many thanks to whomever decides to leave a review. I'm always eager to hear what readers liked as well as what they didn't.**


	39. Chapter 39

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Ring and all its characters, races and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle-earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

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Jeren was almost too weary to even wonder at the surprise that Elrohir had alluded to. They bid James good night as they got ready to leave, and they gathered what few things they had brought with them, mainly wet cloaks that were now dry. James went into the bedroom he shared with Elen, and as the door opened and closed, both Jeren and Elrohir could hear the comforting sound of Elen snoring quietly again.

They exchanged smiles, and then Jeren frowned slightly. Looking around the room she finally said, "I wonder where our gear is..."

"Worry not about it," Elrohir said. "Everything has been seen to."

She looked at him quizzically again, but she was so tired that all she could do was sigh. She found her cloak and put it around her shoulders. He discovered the gloves he'd given to her earlier in the day resting on the hearth where she had left them to dry. He walked over to her and held out his hand for hers.

"We aren't going far," Jeren said. "My hands won't have time to get cold again, with us just walking the distance to the loft."

"Who says we are going to your loft?" he asked her, one of his brows arched in question.

"I just assumed…" she said, shaking her head slightly as if to make her point.

"Well, you know what they say about assuming anything," he replied smartly, still stubbornly holding his hand out for hers.

"No, what do they say?" she asked as she finally complied, putting her fingers into his palm.

He slipped one of the gloves over the fingers of her left hand, then easily slid it the rest of the way up to her wrist. "They say…" he said, while looking at her pointedly, but instead of continuing with some sort of silly quip as she would have expected, he paused, and she watched as his eyes, lit with cleverness only seconds before, clouded over with burdens unshared, and his playful expression fell away, as if something had suddenly taken any lightness he might have had in his heart and ripped it from him. He simply sighed before he finished, "It doesn't matter what they say…"

Jeren laughed nervously in the face of his sudden change of heart, and then she helped him cover her right hand with the other glove. She'd laughed, but she'd wanted to cry, because she could feel through their bond the heartache Elrohir wasn't even bothering to shield anymore. That had to mean that it was so deep and he was so mournful, that the effort of keeping it hidden from her was just too great.

She hugged him, and then he put his cloak on as well, and, taking her hand, he led her out of the cabin. They walked a fair distance in the moonlight, in the same direction as the loft, which had been built in the rafters of the stable. Jeren found she was glad that Elrohir had insisted on her wearing the gloves, because, while the sky had finally cleared and the wind had calmed, the temperature was brutally cold. It had rained more than it had snowed, and the puddles all along the path were now ice-covered and treacherous. He deftly led her around them, walking so quickly she almost had to trot to keep up.

They finally arrived at the cabin he sought, which was in the row of homes on the opposite side of the street from Elen's, but completely at the other end of the line. He held the door open for her, and as she entered, she quietly gasped at what she saw inside.

She slowly wandered into the small house, which was lit with several candles placed in various parts of the room, for it was only one room, dominated by a huge bed, its heavy wooden headboard centered on one wall. A stone fireplace was on the opposite wall, and a fire was merrily burning in the grate. The small house was not warm by anyone's measure, but the fire had taken the worst of the chill from the air and it was now at least bearable inside.

There was a wardrobe against the wall beside the bed, and Jeren walked slowly to it and opened its door. As she'd hoped, she'd found all their clothes hanging up and the rest of their gear stowed on its ample bottom shelf. She removed her cloak and hung it on one of the pegs inside, then held out her hand to receive Elrohir's, which she also hung up. She closed the wardrobe's door, and as she turned toward the fireplace again, she spied something she'd missed before. It was something she'd been daydreaming of earlier today, something she would have done almost anything for tonight, but which she had completely expected to do without: a bathtub. And it was filled with water that was steaming so hotly, it created a thin fog above the tub.

She looked at Elrohir with wonder-filled eyes. "How—When?" she stammered.

"It helps when your brother owes you a favor," he said, and while he had a smile on his face, it did nothing to lessen what Jeren knew was the true emotion in him. "You'd best hop into that tub before the water grows too cool," he said, shutting the door behind him.

Jeren walked back to him, and put her arms around him in one of the most sincerely heartfelt hugs she'd ever given him. She then looked into his face, and she could see the pain in his eyes, the pain that was aching in his heart…

…and thus, in hers.

He gently directed her toward the fireplace, pulling the gloves from her hands at the same time. He smiled again at how dumbstruck she seemed, standing there open-mouthed and gawking. Finally he put his fists on his hips and said, "If you aren't going to take advantage of that tub, then I certainly will."

"Elrohir," Jeren said, and her voice as well as her face was distressed. "You shouldn't have gone to so much trouble. I don't know exactly how you accomplished it without me finding out, and I am very grateful for your efforts... But you know my mood—it matches yours. How can I pamper myself in this luxury you've provided, when I feel as if I should be weeping instead?"

"It is because of our moods that I hope you do take advantage of these things," he said, obviously trying to explain, but only accomplishing confusing her more. He shook his head, "I am saying it all wrong, Jeren…"

"No," she said, her hand caressing his cheek. "You haven't said anything wrong to me. We have no map to these foreign lands we seem to be traveling in, Elrohir, but together I know we can find a path through this wilderness." She gave him a sweet gentle kiss. "What is on your mind? I would help you, if you help me to understand exactly what you need of me."

He walked a few steps away before turning and looking at her again. He actually seemed embarrassed, if one were to try to put a word to describing his expression. "Jeren…" he started, but paused, seeming to desperately search for the words he needed. "I don't know how to say this."

His voice was almost choked, so she went to him again, holding his hands at the wrists, down at his sides. "Just say it, husband of mine."

"I knew this would be difficult, but I never dreamed it would be this hard…" he said. A tear trickled from one of his eyes and he quickly dashed it away. Jeren then put her arms around him again, holding him firmly, stroking his hair with one of her hands. He held on to her, squeezing her so tightly she could barely take in air. She waited for him to say something more, but he didn't; not another word.

Jeren had never seen Elrohir like this—shaking and gasping for breath. She wondered for a moment if he needed his brother, because try as she might, she was only Human—she wasn't Elven. And the ache she could feel in her bond with Elrohir would have sent her to her knees, had he not been holding on to her for dear life. She wanted to understand—and a small part of her did—but she knew she was out of her depth. She'd thought her own heart would break many times today, and she expected nothing to change in the days to come, when she finally had to part with the children forever. She'd felt as though the pain was as bad as it could ever be, but even when she'd wept for her anticipated loss of Andis and Jessa—mostly when she'd been alone in the bathing room in Rivendell—her pain had been nothing like Elrohir's was now. Nothing like this…

After only a few more moments, Elrohir calmed himself and lessened his hold. He chuckled slightly, which made Jeren wonder if he might have gone mad—weeping and then laughing in less than five heartbeats! But what he said next, let her know that her Elrohir was himself again—at least for now.

"Your heart is beating at a thunderous pace," he said, as he pulled her face up to look into her eyes. "I am sorry if I frightened you…"

He kissed her deeply then with such force and passion, that she could tell he was barely controlling himself. She felt like the most fragile of flowers in the paws of a bear, when the bear wanted not to smash the delicate petals within his claws, but he knew of no other way to hold them in his grasp.

_She, a warrior, felt delicate and frail in Elrohir's arms_. It was almost too much to believe.

He drew away from her slowly, as if it took great effort to part from her, and then he pushed her gently toward the tub again. "Truly, Jeren," he said. "Bathe. It is what I want. It will give me some time to get more control over my emotions." He looked at her a little sheepishly for a moment. "I seem to be having trouble in that regard right now."

Jeren didn't want to let Elrohir know it, but he had truly frightened her a few minutes ago, and as a result she'd tightened her hold on their bond. At the moment there seemed to be a storm in their hearts, a jumble of many different feelings at the same time. Their bond was confused—just as he seemed to be. There was the obvious pain at losing the children, but mixed up in that was also his guilt at having to leave Andis, who had been completely dependent on him before. As if those emotions were not enough, there was also fear that the boy might not make the transition from Rivendell to the settlement easily. And yes, there was also some jealousy, that Andis had accepted Timm tonight, and had not called for him after he'd left the room. Unreasonable, true, but emotion is often not even remotely sensible.

His distraction was working in her favor, however; as long as he was overcome by his own emotions, he could not read hers. She did not want to distress him further by having him sense the fear in her heart.

He took her hand and led her to the tub himself, since it seemed as if her feet might be leaden, for she'd not moved an inch. He turned to her again, caressed her neck with his hand. "I did all this for you tonight for a selfish reason. I knew not how to ask you…" He looked down between them for a moment, then glanced up again. "I feared I would react in just this way, and I knew—being with you… making love with you…"

This evening was proving to be surprising indeed, in many respects. Elrohir had never asked her if she wanted to make love before—he simply seduced her when the mood struck him. She supposed he'd tried seduction a few minutes ago, but he'd been in such a state that maybe he was unsure as to whether he could control himself with her. He probably thought that he'd end up hurting her, so he'd backed away. But now he'd brought the subject up, shyly but insistently. He had to need her badly or he wouldn't have swallowed his pride and broached the topic again. Jeren could see the embarrassment in his eyes now, and she rushed to reassure him. "You thought I could give you some much needed comfort?" she asked quietly. "So you provided comfort for me beforehand?"

He looked toward the floor, slowly shaking his head. "I know you are tired and heartsore yourself… Probably the last thing you want is for me to be pawing at you, when what you need is sleep. I feel so selfish…"

She smiled and gave a short laugh. "You've never in our bonded life 'pawed' me, Elrohir. Selfish, no; don't say that. You have great need, is all. That I _can _understand." She stepped back from him and began unbuttoning her tunic. "You are so used to giving to me all the time that it seems as if you've completely forgotten how to take. I love you, Elrohir. Allow me to give to you, too. You need never feel selfish to tell me you have need of me, nor must you do anything to impress me in order for me to ease your heart. I would do that anyway, did I know of your desires. You aren't always very forthcoming in showing them, you know." She shrugged out of the garment, letting it fall to the floor, and began undoing the buttons of her shirt.

Elrohir came closer and nudged her hands away, taking on the task for himself. As soon as he had her shirt undone and lying on the floor with her tunic, he pulled the tie holding her leggings closed and eased them and her underclothes from around her waist and down her hips to let them fall around her feet. She stepped out of them without letting her eyes leave his. He pulled the ribbons that held her half shift closed and it opened to reveal her breasts. He ran his hands between the cloth and her skin, and let his palms settle over her breasts for mere seconds, before his fingers slid around her sides to rest against her ribs.

Without saying anything else, he guided her as she turned toward the tub, holding her steady while she stepped into the steaming water—although she did not truly need such aid. He released her as she sat, and then he dragged a chair from beside the hearth over to sit in. She sighed as she leaned against the tub's back.

It was a longer tub, made of metal not wood, and not round, as most of the tubs at the settlement were. She only wondered briefly at where someone must have been hiding it. She inwardly smiled as she also wondered if perhaps it might be the Chieftain's. He was the only one of any rank here; the only one who might be deserving of such luxury.

She gazed at Elrohir's profile, lit by the firelight—his fine skin, with no visible scars. She wondered at that. How had he lived thousands of years without once having a cut on his face? She knew that Elves scarred, because he had fine tracings of old battle wounds that crisscrossed the skin of his abdomen as well as his back, and even a few on his arms and legs. It seemed as if the longer ago the injury occurred, the lighter the mark. Some were larger than others, as well as darker and more pronounced, as was the one he'd taken in the side, fighting Orcs right after her father had been slain. That had been an ugly wound, but Lord Elrond had healed it, even though it had been poisoned. Her eyes settled on his face once again, noting his fine, almost straight nose. She thought back to the last battle that her father had fought in, remembering how both of the twins had finished that fight with blackened eyes, and noses that weren't exactly as perfect as they had been before the altercation.

She smiled but he did not notice. He was staring into the flames, as if he were a million leagues away from her. She tried to stifle a yawn, but it got away from her, and her mouth opened so widely, she feared her jaw might come unhinged. But it had the effect of drawing Elrohir's attention to her again.

"Looks like it's time to finish your bath, doesn't it?" he asked her.

She nodded and began soaping her arm. Elrohir got up and stoked the fire, first rearranging the burning logs with a long iron rod that was leaning against the stones specifically for that purpose.

They both knew he was banking the fire not only to kill time, but also for her. It seemed as if Elves did not truly feel cold, not the way Humans did. They wore cloaks and hoods, but Jeren thought it might be more to keep rain off or for disguise at times, so that strangers would not know at once that they were Elves from getting a glimpse of their ears.

Elrohir glanced back at Jeren and she was sitting in the tub expectantly. "Would you soap my back?" she asked him, not trying to be particularly seductive, but accomplishing it just the same.

He looked at her as he removed his tunic and rolled up his sleeves, a smoldering look that made her blush. He went to one knee next to the tub and took the soap from her, lightly rubbing it over her skin, dipping water from the tub with his hand, to trickle ticklishly down her back to rinse her off. She shivered, but not from the cold. Starting at her jaw, he dropped kisses down her neck and onto her cool, wet shoulder. She turned her face to him and his lips captured hers.

He cleared his throat after a minute, then said hoarsely, "I think your back is clean."

She smiled and raised herself out of the tub, and he fetched a towel. He wrapped it snugly around her naked body, and she took the edges, holding it closed as she stepped out onto another towel that Elrohir had placed on the floor. She rubbed her skin vigorously, as much to stay warm as to dry herself off. While she was busy doing that, Elrohir had gone to the wardrobe to gather a few things for her.

She looked at him suspiciously when he handed her the sleeping gown he had in his hands, for she hadn't had sleeping in mind at all for this night. She thanked him for it anyway, and then she deftly had it over her head and smoothed along her body in no time at all. Next he held out a pair of soft, fluffy gray socks—one in each hand—which she took, but did not put on her feet.

She looked at them as if she truly didn't know what they were, and might even suspect they had been alive at some point. "Where did these come from?" she asked him as she examined them more closely. They were indeed something she might typically wear, but tonight wasn't typical in any sense. As soon as Elrohir had hesitantly spoken of his need, her tiredness had slipped from her mind. "I'm sorry," she said with a wry smile, "but I think these just might kill the mood." She dangled them from her fingertips in such a way that they resembled two dead mice being held up by their tails.

He smiled, his eyes telling her that he loved her more than anyone else in the entire world. "Humor me," he said. "Your feet need to stay warm, or else I'll experience their unpleasant chill against me sometime during the night."

"Ah, so it's self defense you have in mind with these, is it?" Laughing, she threw the offensive footwear at him, then ran to the bed, her feet seeming as if they barely touched the cold, stone floor in her haste. She threw the covers back and climbed in, covering herself up to her chin.

…But he hadn't chased after her, as had been her intent.

"El-rohir," she called, "I'm waiting for you… I thought mayhap you might try to wrestle those stinkin' socks on me yourself, if you want 'em on my feet!"

He smiled sadly at her, noting the lilt to her voice—sounding much like her father used to. "I have you where I want you. That's good enough for me," he said. But then, instead of taking off his clothes and getting ready for bed, he turned away from her and sat again in the same chair he'd been sitting in before.

She lay there for several minutes, wondering what to do. She was afraid he might still be feeling selfish, and she decided she would just have to prove to him that her need of him was as great as his need of her. She heaved a frustrated sigh and climbed out of the bed, wanting to scream when her feet hit the frigid stones of the floor. Why whoever furnished this cabin hadn't had the foresight of preparing for a cold winter's night by putting a nice warm rug down, she hadn't the slightest idea, but she'd decided to go after her husband, and cold floor or no, she was planning on enticing him into the bed.

She squatted next to his chair, placing her hand on his thigh. It was incredible to her, but she'd startled him with her touch.

"Jeren, what—?" he asked as his eyes focused on her, but he abandoned words quickly, when he saw that her teeth were chattering with the cold. He pulled her up to stand, and in one smooth movement, had her whisked into his arms and began carrying her to the bed.

"You might as well save yourself the trouble, Elrohir," she said smartly. "If you don't plan on joinin' me, I don't plan on stayin'!"

He held her aloft above the mattress for several seconds, before allowing her to fall the short distance to the bed. She laughed as she landed in what felt like soft down packed tight, a truly luxurious thing to stuff into a bed. She'd slept in feather beds before and they were delightful, but down? Again she wondered at this cabin, the tub—and who it all might belong to.

He shook his head at her, a small smile creeping onto his lips at her laughter. "I suppose I can't make you sleep," he said in frustration. He sat on the edge of the bed, and she scooted over to make room for him. He started taking off his boots. When he'd progressed to the buttons of his shirt, he turned to her and said, "You truly do not understand what you are doing, Jeren. You experienced how out of control I was just a little while ago, and yet you want more of the same?"

She finally smiled seductively at him. "I wondered when you would get the hint, husband!"

As Elrohir finished undressing, she hoped she was keeping their bond held as tightly as it was possible to hold, because his words had made her think twice. She'd never seen him in this mood before, and it was unsettling, and yes, a little frightening. Yet she'd never been a coward in her life, and she wasn't about to start being one now—especially not when he needed her so badly.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren woke before dawn, with Elrohir's arms holding her closely against him. He was spooned up behind her and she could feel his breath warm against her neck. She didn't move at first, not wanting to disturb him. Unless she was mistaken, and she didn't think that she was, he was still walking his dream paths.

There was one small window on the wall on the other side of the bed, and even with the shade down and the curtain pulled, she could tell the sun had not yet risen. At one point during the night, Elrohir had insisted on lighting a lamp. So that he could better see her, was what he'd said… Yet she thought he wanted more to see her reactions to what he was doing…

She snuggled deeper into the covers, pressing herself more closely to Elrohir. She thought back to last night and smiled. They'd had a beautiful time together, after she'd finally gotten through to him that she wouldn't break at his touch. Even still, she could tell he'd been holding back the entire time, and she felt bad about that, because she knew he hadn't let his spirit free, as she had been able to do. She was sure she'd have a few bruises this morning, but they were nothing—at least to her they were nothing. She was afraid it would make Elrohir feel badly if he saw them.

She knew her best hope of keeping them from him would be if he rose and went about his day, leaving her here sleeping. But so far it wasn't happening that way. She didn't know why this should surprise her, because of late, she'd been rising every morning earlier than everyone else; it was as if her mind remembered, even in sleep, that she should wake before the sun truly rose.

Yes, she'd been rising before anyone else—except Glorfindel—and the two of them had been sparring, with the Arms Master training her, showing her tricks to accomplish the things she still could not do with her crippled arm. She held the sword in her left hand these days, but she used her right hand and arm to strengthen her blows, with both hands gripping the hilt. She'd thought she'd known all of Glorfindel's tricks, but come to find out, she'd not had any idea how far reaching his trickery extended.

Elrohir's hold tightened on her and she winced, feeling one of the many bruises she knew ran along the length of her ribs. Last night, during their lovemaking, she'd not felt any pain, but the minute she'd become conscious this morning, she'd been aware of it in many places. Elrohir had just not known his strength as he'd held her, and it astounded her now, knowing how much control he'd been keeping over himself before when they'd made love. She knew of Elves' awesome strength; had witnessed what, to her, seemed to be impossible feats performed by one Elf, which would have taken two or more men to accomplish. Elrohir had always been so gentle, and now she appreciated it greatly, understanding the difference she'd never even known about. Yet she could not make herself feel sorry for any of it. This morning she couldn't keep the smile off her face, thinking about the wild abandon she'd felt last night.

Belatedly, she thought about checking their bond, to see just how conscious her husband might be. She instantly knew he was very aware, because if he were not, their connection gently hummed, without her not being able to discern it well. This morning, she could feel him there, sense the smile in his heart, which overlaid his sadness. He was still unhappy about leaving the children, but his sorrow wasn't overwhelming, as it had been last night.

Before she could say anything, she felt his lips at her ear, kissing the tender skin just behind it. She knew her game was up then, so she turned over in his arms to face him.

"Good morning," he said quietly. She kissed him deeply, but he wasn't responding, at least not in the same way he had last night.

"Good morning," she finally replied. She snuggled closer to him, laying her face against the base of his throat. She could feel him swallow, and then she somehow knew he was smiling.

"How are you this morning?" he asked her, and she was aware of the guarded tone in his voice, as if he dreaded what she might say. So she decided to play coy with him.

"If you had to guess how I was, what would you think?"

"Hmmm…" he stalled, considering his options. She knew he was checking their bond as she waited. "I'd say that were you a cat, you would be purring. Am I close?"

She gave a quiet laugh. "You'd be very close, Elrohir." She leaned back some, so that she could look into his eyes. "I didn't know you knew so many Elvish tricks—at least I suppose they are Elvish." Her voice sounded wary, as if her curiosity was about to get the better of her. "I know I've never heard of some of those things you did last night—nor have you ever demonstrated any of them so far when we—" She paused momentarily, gathering her courage to ask her question. Lowering her voice, she asked him bluntly, "Wherever did you learn such things?"

He threw back his head and laughed at her utter seriousness, but it was music to Jeren's ears. He kissed her noisily on the cheek, and then made as if to rise. But she would have none of that, and pulled him back down to her, so he hugged her tightly again, but just lay there smiling.

"I may have to devise some sort of torture to get the information out of you." She looked at him from the corners of her eyes. "Maybe something involving sharp blades or—something else painful!" She attacked his ribs, hoping the suddenness of the onset of tickling would catch him unawares, but he was Elven after all, and he had her wrists captured and held before she'd even gotten started well.

She relaxed, but looked at him steadily with expectation in her eyes. Her expression silently demanded that he spill his guts.

"If you must know," he said haughtily, "I did not just study Valinor all those weeks before we decided to bond, when I was almost sick with want of you."

Jeren's jaw dropped in surprise. "There are texts in the library with that—sort—of information in them?"

He laughed quietly and hugged her to him again. "Not only information, but illustrations, as well!" He paused, looking at her again and laughing at her incredulous stare. "If you'd like, when we return to Imladris I will show some of them to you."

She collapsed into helpless giggling then, and he joined her. Jeren thought the sound of his laughter would always cause her heart to seize with elation. _The music of it; the timbre of it; the sensuousness of it…_

They sobered quickly and settled again, with Jeren nestled in the crook of his arm, her body touching his from her head to her toes. They lay there quietly for awhile, content for the moment, not thinking of anything else. And then Jeren thought about a question that had been nagging her since last night.

"Elrohir, who does this cabin belong to?"

Using her own words against her this time, he answered, "If you were to guess, who would you think?"

Playing the game she'd started, and which he seemed to be carrying on, she said, "Hmmmm… It is—for all practical purposes—not very practical. It seems like a place no family would live in. Oh wait! Perhaps it is for visitors? Ones who may not have kin to stay with in the settlement, but who need somewhere to sleep?" She pondered that for a moment, but then discarded the idea. "Since it isn't practical—there is no place to cook anything—I would think it wouldn't be a woman it belongs to. She would probably want to do for herself."

"You're a woman, and you don't cook," Elrohir said smartly.

She smacked him lightly on the chest. "I can cook, I simply choose not to."

He snickered and she kicked him in the leg. She looked at him indignantly. "I can!"

"If you insist," he said, his smile so infectious she had to look away so that she wouldn't laugh.

"_Someone_," she continued in spite of his interruption, "who is fairly used to luxury. I know of no other copper bathtubs in all of the settlement. Most of them are wooden and splintery—and yes, even leaky, when the resin erodes from between the seams." She frowned, thinking… "And the bed—who would have ever thought to stuff a mattress with down?"

"That's what my parents' mattress in Imladris is stuffed with," Elrohir put in, at the same time giving her the biggest hint she could ever hope to have.

She raised herself up on one elbow, to better see Elrohir's face, and in so doing, saw the look of barely contained laughter playing around his mouth.

She thought about all the evidence: a copper bathtub… luxurious down in the mattress… no rug on the floor to guard one's feet from the cold…

"No!" she said, "It's _not_ your father's cabin!"

"Yes, it is his cabin," Elrohir said, "and thus, by association, Elladan and I have access to it as well."

"When does your father ever have occasion to use it? I don't think he's left Rivendell since I've known him, Elrohir. Has he?"

"He has never traveled extensively; well, at least not since he fought with Gil-galad on Orodruin. After that last battle is when he went to Imladris and finally stayed, making it our home. He's had doings with the Dúnedain ever since Elros chose—what he chose. And then he and my mother used to travel to this settlement quite often; but you are right. He hasn't left Imladris in a very great while."

"Is there a reason, Elrohir?" she asked.

"I believe, if my memory serves me correctly, that the last time he left Rivendell was when we escorted my mother to the harbor at Mithlond. I think that might have something to do with why he stays at home so much—he misses her and doesn't want to take a trip and be reminded of her absence. I think that perhaps he dreads traveling anywhere without her now.

"That trip to the Gray Havens was very sad, although you wouldn't have known it by my father's demeanor. He would stop and point out things that, in the past, my mother would have found of interest, but at the time, were beyond her to reach for. I do not think that a smile ever left his face—not the entire time. He wanted her to feel no guilt about abandoning us. He wanted to show her that all would be well, even if she did board the ship in the harbor and leave, not to see any of us again for Ages." He paused, as if remembering every step of the journey.

"I would be remiss if I did not mention that he feels his presence is needed in Imladris at all times. He takes the protection of his people very seriously. It was more than likely the attack on my mother that has made him step up his vigilance."

Jeren was quiet for a few minutes, thinking again of the Lord being separated from his Lady, and for so long—with no end in sight. It never failed to help her put her own life into perspective. She didn't know what she would do if she were required to live away from Elrohir for any length of time—not now; not since they'd bonded.

"Yet she wasn't anywhere near Rivendell when her party was besieged, was she, Elrohir?"

"No," he answered, patiently explaining exactly what he was meaning, "but the fouler creatures of Middle-earth have been multiplying at alarming rates, and they started doing so even before my mother was attacked in the Misty Mountains. I think Father feels it is his task to stay and protect the valley and all his people."

Jeren frowned at him, wanting further explanation of this, but her stomach growled loudly then, and they burst out laughing.

Throwing the covers off them both and earning a squeal from Jeren at the cold of the room, Elrohir got up to tend to the fireplace, quickly stoking the embers barely glowing in the grate and adding wood until he had it blazing. Jeren simply lay back down, pulling the covers over her, enjoying the vision of the muscles in his legs and shoulders as the light from the flames played over his skin. She smiled, watching as he built the fire back up for her.

Before long, he turned toward her. "Are you getting up or should I come in after you?"

Jeren thought about that for a moment. She knew he was determined to get up—he was probably ready to go check on Andis—so if he came back to bed, it probably wouldn't end in the pleasant way she had in mind. It would probably entail covers being whipped back and perhaps a spank on the hip. Her brows rose at that thought, but then came back down when she remembered the bruises she was trying to hide from his sight.

"I'm feeling shy this morning, Elrohir," she said, pulling the covers up under her chin.

He cocked his head to one side, and she knew then that she'd said exactly the wrong thing, if she didn't want him to discover the damage he'd done to her during their lovemaking last night. She tried not to grimace, pulling her lips into a very strange smile instead.

Not making an issue of it, Elrohir lit two more of the lamps in the room, noticing when Jeren did grimace at the added light. He then went to the wardrobe and found clothes for the day. As he pulled on his leggings, he said, "I think you're trying to hide something, my dearest wife." He had his back to her, so Jeren couldn't see if he was smiling or frowning.

"Not really, Elrohir," she said. "As far as I'm concerned, there's nothing to hide." She paused for effect, before she added, "Yet I'm not sure you will feel that way."

As he started to button his shirt, he turned back toward her. "You can show me, Jeren," he said. "You do not seem too worse for the wear. And last night, it wasn't pain that caused the screams I had to muffle with kisses."

Jeren could feel herself blush, even as she smiled. His face was beautiful, the careworn expression of last night was long gone, and it its place his love for her was shining through. She rose from the bed, and walked around it toward him, as he sat perched on its other side. She stood before him and he traced handprints—large ones—that encased her ribs, with fingers that barely grazed her skin. She shivered at his touch, but it brought to him the fact that she was cold, standing there on the stones of the floor. All she had on were the fluffy gray socks, which he had indeed wrestled onto her feet at some point during their night together.

He chuckled at that thought and stood, gathering her into his arms and taking her over to the fire to stand on the towel that had fallen to the floor after last night's bath.

"If you continue with this carrying me around," she quipped, as he set her back on her feet, "I just might forget how to walk!"

He smirked as he brought her some clothing, and then said, "Don't get too used to this. We will be out in the Wild before long. Far from any beds or even clean clothes."

She quickly donned the things he'd brought to her, and then she sat in the chair he'd used the night before to pull on her boots.

He was ready to go, so he brought her brush and comb and helped her make sense of her hair for a few minutes. She was just about to get waspish with him, for doing all these things for her that she was capable of doing for herself, when she realized that he was just anxious to be off. When he braided her hair for her, that's when she knew just how much he wanted to get to Timm's cabin. He usually didn't even think to rush her, but he did offer his help whenever he knew her clumsy right hand would take longer than he wanted to wait.

But when she stood and stepped toward the wardrobe again, to fetch their cloaks, he stopped her with a hand on her sleeve. Pulling her to him, he gently enclosed her within his arms, careful not to put undue pressure on her sides.

"I love you, Jeren," he said, as his eyes met hers. "I never had doubt that bonding with you was exactly what I wanted, but would that my father could feel what is in my heart this morning. He would never have any uncertainty about our bonding, either. It was right—it will always be right—no matter what happens in the end."

Jeren fell into his arms then, hers going around his neck. She never wanted to think about 'in the end'; it always left her cold when she did. But to hear his reassurance that he had absolutely no regrets did her heart good, since he was the one who had everything to lose.

"I love you, Elrohir," she whispered.

Pushing her away gently, he smiled and said, "Let's go see our boy and girl."

She smiled, too, and they left the cabin hand in hand.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren and Elrohir knocked softly on Timm's cabin door. There were lamps glowing inside, but they didn't know if the children were up as of yet. They waited only a few moments before the door was opened, but the person on the other side surprised them both.

"Jeren," Rhyse said, and while his voice was surprised it wasn't raised. They all stood there dumbly looking at one another for several seconds, and then Jeananne joined Rhyse, opening the door wider so that Elrohir and Jeren could come inside.

"Come in and good morning," Jeananne said, ushering them in out of the cold. "It seems as if you know my nephew." Frowning, she looked at the three of them. "But it also seems as if it might not be friendship you share. Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing is wrong, Aunt Jean," Rhyse said quickly. "Yes, we do know one another, and when I have more time I will tell you about it. I've made the delivery for my mother, and now I have duty, so I will take my leave." And Rhyse beat a hasty retreat.

Jeananne shook her head as she closed the door after her nephew. "He has no intention of telling me anything," she said then. "Men. Closed mouthed they are and no amount of a woman's trying to make them talk can get words past their lips that they are not aiming to spill." She motioned toward the table. "Sit down, won't you? Perhaps have a little tea? Break your fasts?"

Jeren and Elrohir eyed each other, but sat where Jeananne had told them to sit. She returned to the stove, where she gave a pot of porridge a stir, and then she brought teacups for each of them. She went back to the stove for the kettle of tea already made. She poured for them all, as well as a fourth cup, for Timm, who emerged from their bedroom holding a smiling Jessa. He placed her in a chair that had been specifically made for a baby, one from which she could not fall. Jeananne brought a basket to the table, which was covered with a bread cloth. She then went to the cupboards, returning with four plates.

At last she sat down with the rest of them. Looking at Elrohir, she said, "We've not heard a peep from either of the boys. I'd say Andis' first night was a success."

He smiled and agreed. "It would seem so." He took a sip from his steaming cup.

Jeananne lifted the basket and drew back the cloth, revealing some beautiful blueberry muffins. "We just harvested these berries not two months ago. We canned so many this year! The season lasted and lasted—it's been so warm. They're very ripe and tasty…" She held the basket out for both Jeren and Elrohir to each take a muffin. "My sister is particularly good at making muffins and when she heard that Andis had finally come to us, she baked these special for him and had Rhyse deliver them this morning. So we'd better save at least one for the boy."

"I'm sure he will enjoy it, Jeananne," Elrohir said.

Jeren's mind was racing. Rhyse's mother Firiel was Jeananne's sister? How interesting and small the world could be at times. Nothing had shocked her more than seeing Rhyse when the door had opened this morning. If there was any comfort at all, he'd looked as surprised as she'd felt. She wondered if Firiel had told Jeananne anything about her relationship with Rhyse, and if so, what had she said? _Did she really want to know?_

They had fallen into companionable silence as they ate their muffins and drank their tea. "There's plenty more, so eat at least another," Jeananne said. "And there'll be porridge and sausage in another little while. A good hearty meal first thing in the morning makes for a productive day."

About that time they all turned as one, when they heard the latch on the boys' bedroom door rattle, and Andis came out, rubbing his eyes. He took one look at those gathered around the table and ran to Elrohir as fast as his cold, little feet could carry him. Elrohir lifted him up into his lap, and Andis quickly put his arms around the Elf's neck, giving him a huge hug.

"G'mornin', El-ro-heer!" he finally said. His smile was beaming, and it was obvious to everyone that the child was speaking to his favorite person in the world.

"Good morning, Andis," Elrohir said in reply. "Did you sleep well?"

The boy nodded. "I sleeped real good. I didn't dream or nothin'."

Elrohir grinned and Andis hugged him again. _Yes, Andis' first night was indeed a success._

"It's time to get some clothes on," Timm said to Andis, "and we needs wake up that sleepy Sean." He rose from the table and Andis got down from Elrohir's lap, but as Elrohir started to rise, Timm placed his hand on the Elf's shoulder. "We'll return before you know it." He'd not been unkind at all, but Elrohir looked as if he'd been slapped as he settled back in his chair. Under the table Jeren placed her hand in his.

Jeananne got up and began preparing the sausage, heating the pan while she awaited her husband bringing the boys out of their room. Claire had risen and was now feeding Jessa, sharing a muffin with the baby, breaking off little morsels and placing them on Jessa's tongue. In a way, it reminded them all of a mother bird feeding her baby.

As soon as it was finished cooking, Jeananne took the sausage off the fire, covering it with a plate to keep it warm, and then gathered another basket up from beside the stove and called Claire to her. "Take this over to Elen's house. There should be enough for her entire brood. Tell her they are from Firiel."

"Yes, Mama," Claire replied as she put on her cloak. "And while I am there, I will see if I can help Jamesica with their morning meal."

"That's a good girl," Jeananne said, and as she watched Claire close the door behind her, Jeren could see the pride of a mother for a daughter in the woman's eyes. It stabbed at her heart, remembering her own mother and how she used to help her long ago. How the smallest things would make her mother happy… She hadn't understood at the time, but she thought she was beginning to now.

"It took me time to place you, Jeren," Jeananne said as she came back to sit down. "You're the woman ranger, are you not?"

Jeren smiled slightly. "I used to be, Jeananne."

"The first and only woman ranger," Jean said, as if she were coming to some sort of point or expected Jeren to fill in the blanks of what she knew and didn't know. Jean's expression was guarded, confirming Jeren's suspicions that Rhyse's mother might have told her sister about her and Rhyse. But what she had told her, Jeren still couldn't tell.

"Yes," Jeren replied, deciding that she would explain—everything—so that if Firiel were spinning some sort of nefarious web, then she could tear it down and set things right. The way things spread in this settlement, Jeren wondered if she might not have a reputation that she didn't deserve. "The first woman ranger of the Dúnedain. Were I not injured in an Orc hunt, I might still be a ranger. And not only that, I would most probably be wed to your nephew by now, unless one of us had gotten killed."

Elrohir hadn't been paying much attention, but Jeren's words made him sit up suddenly and look as if he might say something. Jeren cut him off before he could. "I was injured." She held her right hand out on top of the table, palm up, and flexed her fingers, showing that not all of them worked. "I knew I'd never pass the tests for readmittance into the rangers' ranks, and when Rhyse found that out, he wanted nothing further to do with me. Even though we'd talked of marriage, it seems his love did not run that deep. If I was no longer a ranger, then he wanted to move on."

Jeananne looked stricken, so Jeren hurried to continue. "When he told me that he only wanted me if I could be a ranger again, he killed the love I had for him to the point where, even had he been willing, I would never have been able to wed him. Two people must love one another for who they are, not necessarily for what they do." She looked down at the tabletop, gathering her thoughts and her courage. Looking back at Jeananne, she said, "It isn't that I was innocent in the entire affair, however—Elrohir and I had taken interest in each other by then. When Rhyse found out about it, he was hurt and angry. But after we talked with one another, being completely honest, he finally admitted that he did not think I'd ever recover enough to be a ranger with him again, and that meant everything to him—as far as our relationship went. Whether Elrohir was between us or not was irrelevant.

"But sometimes when hurt and jealousy are factors, things get spread that are only half the truth, in order that 'someone' might seem the bigger person, and I hope to prevent that from happening now—or stop it, if it has already occurred. It truly matters little to me, but my aunt and uncle live here, and I would not have Elen feel the need to defend my honor, even though in my eyes, it does not need defending."

Jeananne raised her brows as she took a sip from her tea. She set the cup down gently, and said, "My sister, as you may or may not know, is somewhat defensive when it comes to her only son. It is the way with mothers and their sons, Jeren. Rhyse, to my knowledge, never told anyone anything, but that has not stopped Firiel from speculating—loudly at times. True, Rhyse was blue for several weeks after his last return from Rivendell, so I suppose she put her own two and two together and came up with five. She will not be proud to hear of her son's failure to live up to his promises—"

"—please," Jeren said, "do not tell her this. I just wanted for you to be aware of the true facts, so that you will know the sort of woman I am. I have been caring for Andis and Jessa for some time now, and I would not have you think that a woman of loose or shifty character has tainted them in any way. That is the only reason I told you this now. Well, that, and… you have the power to decide who sees the children and who does not. I hope that by telling you the truth about Rhyse and me, it might put to rest any mistruths you may have heard, so that you will feel at ease with my seeing them whenever I can."

Jeananne nodded and smiled. It was apparent that Jeren had repaired any doubt that Firiel might have cast on Jeren's character. Jeren glanced at Elrohir and he looked back at her with pride, as if he were silently telling her that she'd handled the situation extremely well.

Andis came running into the room then, and he had both Jeren and Jean admonishing him to not run in the house. The women looked at each other and smiled as Andis climbed back onto Elrohir's lap. Elrohir had decided before he'd gotten to the cabin this morning that Andis would not see just how downhearted he felt. He brightened his face as he asked the boy, "Are you hungry?"

"I sure am!" Andis replied. "And I think I smell something good."

"Yes, it's your favorite, and your Aunt Jeananne didn't even need anyone to tell her such. She simply knew it."

Jeananne's brow lowered some, and she handed the basket of muffins to Elrohir. He took it, removing another muffin and placing it onto his plate, but with his eyes and a tilt to his head, he pointed toward the stove, where the sausage was keeping warm. She rose and retrieved plates for the boys, for by now Sean and Timm had joined them all. Elrohir got up from his chair and placed Andis in it, shoving it up to the table and closer to Sean. He then shifted to another chair, which he pulled up beside Jeren's, and Jeananne served the remainder of the meal, porridge in bowls, sausage on plates. No one spoke until they'd all finished eating.

When Andis had had enough, he looked at Elrohir and asked, "Can we go see Bunny now? I didn't get to ride her even once yesterday."

Elrohir and Timm started to speak at the same time, but Elrohir's voice won through. "No, Andis, I think not. Jeren and I are going to be very busy today and won't have a chance to take you to the stable. I suppose it is time for you to learn of Timm and Sean's routine—the things that they do every day—do you not think so?"

Andis lowered his head, looking at the table top for a few seconds, then nodded in his disappointment. "Maybe later?" he asked, and then he raised his eyes to Elrohir's face. "Sometime later, El-ro-heer?" And before Elrohir could answer, Andis added, "And I gotta see Charlie. We always wake up in the same room in the mornin', and I missed him today." Taking a quick glance at Sean, he also put in, "I like it that I have two friends now."

"We'll see what your uncle and aunt have for you to do, and when any chores or learning are finished, perhaps maybe later you can go find Charlie. Or he might come find you, and then the three of you boys could go see Bunny, when your Uncle Timm says you may. As long as you are behaving, the stable master won't mind."

Elrohir got up and held his hand out to Jeren. She took it and stood, clearly disappointed that Elrohir didn't intend to spend any of the day with the children. Their time here was short; they'd soon be off on a scouting mission, and she'd hoped to see Andis and Jessa as much as they could. But clearly Elrohir had another idea.

They took their leave of the family after first thanking Jeananne for the meal. Little Andis' face had not recovered its glow, not since Elrohir had told him that they wouldn't be spending the day together.

Jeren and Elrohir were silent as they walked along the street outside, until Jeren asked, "So where are we going and what have we to do that is so urgent?" She hated that her voice had an edge to it. She truly hadn't meant to let her feelings be known quite so easily, since the last thing Elrohir needed was anger from her. She knew that leaving the children with Timm for the day had hurt him as much as it was hurting her, but she hadn't been able to stop herself.

"Right now, we're going to see to your horse; make sure Two's lameness is as minor as I think it is." He didn't say anything more, but Jeren could tell by the tightness of his jaw that he was angry, yet she wasn't sure just exactly who he was angry with.

They reached the stable and Elrohir went directly to Two's stall. Before he did anything else, he stroked the mare's neck, pulling her face to his and murmuring softly to her in Elvish. He placed a halter and a lead rein on her, and then he backed her out of her stall, and they went outside to see how she walked. Jeren took the rein and led her a distance away, so that Elrohir could watch her gait. Jeren had Two up to a trot as she ran Two back toward Elrohir, and he finally held up his hands to stop her.

"She is not favoring that leg, Jeren," he said. "I think she's fine, but just in case, we'll rub some liniment on it as a precaution."

They took the horse back inside and found the stable master. "Have you treated her leg at all?" Jeren asked him.

"I had a poultice on it for a while after you first brought her in last night, but she seems fine today. I've had her out walking and I could see no lameness at all."

Jeren thanked him and he went about his business. Elrohir left to go fetch the liniment he always carried with him, which was with his things in the cabin they'd stayed in last night. Jeren found a bin full of apples in varying stages of drying. Not the preferred sort that they kept in the Imladris stables, but edible and a treat for a horse just the same. She fed Two a couple of them, lost in thought, when someone walked into the next stall, preparing to saddle the horse that was standing in it.

"Hello, Jeren," Rhyse said, as he gathered a blanket to put onto his horse's back.

"Hello, Rhyse," she replied, not looking up. But she said nothing further.

"I hear congratulations are in order," he said.

"No need for that…" she replied, her voice trailing off. And then she added, "Elrohir and I were wed some time ago Rhyse. I'm surprised you didn't hear of it right away. Elen had."

"I actually did hear of it soon after Elladan came back here, when he was trying to find relatives for the children you rescued." He looked at her directly then, when he said, "_You_ were out on an Orc hunt with them?"

"Yes, Rhyse," she replied, finally looking at him. "I was on an Orc hunt with the twins when we found the children's family beset by the beasts."

He raised his brows as if puzzled by something, and Jeren didn't have long to find out what it was. "I would have thought that your _husband_ wouldn't have taken chances with his wife on such a mission, especially a wife as injured as you were."

"Injur_ed_, Rhyse," she said emphasizing the word. "Past tense. I am no longer injured. Impaired? Slightly, but very capable in a fight. I've actually had an occasion to go hand to hand with an Orc since this injury, and I came out on the winning end."

He glared at her from across his horse's body. He looked away, obviously trying to get his anger under control, but failing. "Hunting Orcs? Grappling with one in the dirt? How did you come out on the winning end of that?"

"You know I carry a dagger in my boot, Rhyse. How else would I end a fight with an Orc?" Her voice was bitter, since what she'd heard him say rankled her. He knew about the attack she'd endured years ago, and his reference to her struggling in the dirt with an Orc sounded oddly reminiscent of what she'd told him about it. She thought he might be referring to that, just in order to hurt her more.

Rhyse's expression was incredulous then, but it quickly fell to just plain anger. "Then why did you not come back here and take your rightful place, Jeren—here, by _my_ side instead of at Elrohir's?" He plunked the saddle abruptly onto his horse's back, which the animal did not appreciate, if one judged by the prancing it did before Rhyse tried to settle him again. He placed one of his hands on his horse's saddle, and the other on his neck, settling him more.

"Because even now I would not pass the rangers' tests, Rhyse. You know that. I thought when we parted you made it very clear exactly what you wanted of me. I could not be a ranger then and I cannot be a ranger now. Nothing has changed, so why are you fighting with me? You wanted nothing to do with me when you thought I would be crippled for life."

"It sounds as if you could pass the tests, if you are strong enough to fight Orcs, hand to hand or in any other way!" Rhyse shouted, ignoring most of what she'd said.

"She passed _Glorfindel's_ tests, Rhyse," Elrohir said as he entered Two's stall. Neither had noticed when the Elf had returned to the stable, and he'd heard almost their entire exchange. "Which I daresay are probably even more rigid than those here. Yet Glorfindel takes into consideration a soldier's capabilities, he does not blindly follow some protocol laid down by fathers of old, just because it is tradition."

Rhyse visibly bristled at that comment, but Elrohir didn't seem to care. He squatted down beside Two's left front foot and began rubbing the fragrant liniment into her skin, massaging the muscles and tendons in her leg. The mare loved the attention and it made Jeren smile, even though she was still somewhat unnerved by Rhyse's presence.

"Well, congratulations anyway," Rhyse said to them both. "I hope you're very happy together." While the words were not inflammatory, his tone was icy.

"We are," Elrohir said from his place down by Two's feet. "Very happy."

Rhyse finished putting the tack on his horse in silence and finally led the beast out of the stall and out of the stable.

"Elrohir—" Jeren started as soon as Rhyse was gone, but he didn't let her finish.

"Worry not about it, Jeren," he said. "I'm not concerned." He stood and the triumphant grin on his face was so priceless, that Jeren could only smile.

They gave Two some final pats, and then they went on their way, back to the cabin. Once inside, Elrohir stoked the fire in the grate, arranging the wood for the best heat. Jeren plopped down onto the bed and lay there staring at the ceiling. After a moment, he joined her.

"Elrohir, why are we here and not with the children?" she asked him sullenly.

"Because Timm wanted us gone. Could you not tell?" His tone was cold, and now Jeren knew exactly who Elrohir had been angry at before.

"I suppose I don't really care what he wants, Elrohir."

"I am trying not to be angry with him," Elrohir said with an effort to change his attitude. "He is only doing what we both know is best for Andis. It just hurts, that's all."

They looked into each other's eyes for a few moments, and finally she looked away. "I know I am being selfish, too. We must do what is best for the children, not what is best for us. A clean break. That's what Jeananne said last night. But it just isn't fair. Timm and Jeananne get to have the children from now on. We must leave and see them only when we visit here, which I can tell by Glorfindel's last instructions, won't be often after this. He will have us scouting full time, which is what I thought I wanted…"

Elrohir turned over onto his side then, his elbow on the pillow, resting his head in one hand. He smoothed the wayward tendrils of hair back behind her ear. "Is it what you want?" he asked her quietly. "You have alternatives. Glorfindel wouldn't be happy to lose us as scouts, but he would get over it. We could do something entirely different."

"Like what, Elrohir?" Jeren asked absently. But the idea of what Elrohir might be talking about struck her like a lightning bolt. She darted a glance at him, but moved her eyes away quickly.

"Yes, Jeren," he said. "We could start a family of our own. It isn't the Elven way to have children during times of strife, but you are Human and your years are short. Neither of us would be warriors as long as our child was under the age of majority. We could do it, if we wanted to."

"I know you want children, Elrohir, especially after we've cared for Andis and Jessa. But I'm truly not ready yet. Even though I am complaining about scouting, it _is_ what I want to do. I'm just torn about missing the children." Jeren turned onto her side to face him. "We cannot forget what your father has told us—I might not be able to conceive at all. But if it turns out that I _am_ able, we have years and years before I am no longer of child-bearing age. Do not forget that I'm Dúnedain. I could still have children when I'm sixty years old. You know that is true."

"Yes, I suppose I do know that. I am being selfish now. I will grieve for losing Andis and Jessa, and then I will get past it. And I will go on for as long as it takes until you are ready—_if_ you ever are. If you are not, well, that's all right, too."

Jeren turned on her side toward him then and kissed him. He returned the kiss, pulling her closer, cupping the back of her head in one of his large hands.

"We will get through this, Jeren," he said. "It will be hard at first, but eventually we will lose ourselves in the Wild for a time, finding Orc bands and reporting them to Glorfindel so that the Imladris force can then wipe them out. Our lives will be full once again, without children, as they were before."

Jeren thought back to how it was before, when she and Elrohir were scouting. It wasn't pleasant most of the time. He had loosened his vigilance on her some toward the end, but not near enough. She'd felt constrained, stifled almost. Yet being a true team with him was something to strive toward.

That made her smile. When she was sixteen, she sometimes hated this Elf! He was obnoxious and bossy most of the time. But he could also be very gentle and sweet, even then. And how she'd admired both of the twins—their sword work and excellence with their bows. Even though she'd always wanted to be a ranger like her father had been, it had been watching the Elves of the Imladris force go about honing their craft that had made Jeren decide that she could, indeed, seek revenge on the creatures who had beset her at her house in the woods. After she had recovered, Lord Elrond had allowed her to train with the novices, and she had thrived under Glorfindel's tutelage—most of the time. The other novices, being all Elves, made her life somewhat miserable, since she was the only female amongst them, and they didn't always know how to approach her. She'd taken the good with the bad, and had come out victorious in the end. And she'd not forgotten her ambition to be amongst the leaders of the force, helping to strategize any battles that might be fought. _No, she'd not forgotten that most important dream of hers…_

"Elrohir, there's still so much I want to do," Jeren said, her voice sounding troubled. "You do understand, do you not? About me not being ready for children, I mean?"

He hugged her to him and she could feel his chuckle more than hear it. "Of course I understand, Jeren. We are a couple—there are two of us. We decide these things together, and if you are not ready, I can accept that. I have all the time this world has to offer. So do not fret about me not getting my way at present. Perhaps someday… That's good enough for me right now."

They settled down then, Jeren in Elrohir's arms and before long she was asleep. He smiled to himself. He'd kept her awake much of last night. The least he could do now was hold her as she napped.

And that's just what he did, until the noon hour approached, and Jeren's stomach again sounded the alarm that it was time for her to take a meal. They got up and refreshed themselves, then left the cabin to seek out Elen. She would be happy to share her meal with them. Somehow Jeren knew that her aunt could ease their hearts like no one else could.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

They spent the rest of the day visiting with Elen and then they sought out Elladan, to spend some time with him. It was the dull time of year, as far as Elladan was concerned, because none of the rangers was very keen on setting out on Orc hunts, not when the weather could turn treacherous at any time. Too many rangers had lost fingers and toes to frostbite while hunting in the past, so they tended to pass the cold winter months doing quieter things right here in the settlement, which did not sit with the Elves very well. The twins were always home for the celebration at Yule, and in the meantime Jeren and Elrohir would be scouting. What Elladan planned to do with his time, not even he knew.

Their boredom would probably decide the length of their stay this time as well. Elladan was anxious to get away from the settlement now. He found that he felt like an interloper in Jessa's life these days, what with Jeananne and Claire vying with him for time with her. And he knew as well as anyone did, that the sooner he was gone from Jessa's life, the sooner she would forget him—and the better off the baby would be.

The baby… She had grown so much since she and her brother had been found. They figured that Jessa was probably well on her way to her second year of life, if she hadn't already passed that milestone. Elrond had sent some Elves from Imladris to Anders' and Mavis' homestead to try and salvage anything of value that they may have had. Jeren and Elrohir had been so caught up in the children's care, that when the Elves had returned, they had stowed the things away in an upstairs room without anyone checking to see what had been retrieved. With any luck, a record of the family might have been kept, from generation to generation. As Matriarch of the clan, the grandmother very well could have kept such a book, and within its pages she would have recorded the births—and deaths—of everyone in the family.

That evening, after they had shared a meal in the dining hall, they had all retired to Elladan's room. The twins had been playing chess, were in fact working on their third game. Elladan and Elrohir had each won a game so far, and this was the tie breaker. Jeren had been absently reading a book that she'd found on one of Elladan's shelves. It was about ancient Elven battles, and she had been thrilled when she'd come across two names that she knew well—Elrond and Glorfindel. In fact the battle which ultimately led to Glorfindel's fight with the Balrog was also chronicled in this volume. Just as she caught herself wondering how this Elvish book had come to be translated into a language she could actually read, her attention was caught by what Elladan was saying.

"When we are home again, we will go through the things that were found at Anders' homestead. If we find a record pertaining to the children's birthdays and ages, then we can inform Timm and Jeananne when we return here at a later date, as well as bring things back here that the children might use as they grow. Anything they might want later in their lives, as well as any furniture or more bulky belongings that were brought back, can be kept in Imladris, and when Andis and Jessa are old enough to start their own homes, we can give them those things then. There's no use in unneeded items taking up space in one of these small cabins."

Elrohir had been studying the board, thinking about his next few moves, but he quickly looked at Elladan after his brother had spoken. "That should keep our feet firmly in their lives." He smiled that impish smile that both of the twins were famous for. "I like the way you think, Brother."

Elladan sketched a small bow with his head. "I have found that, generally speaking, throughout our lives, what one of us thinks of, the other usually goes along with. Have you not found it so?"

Elrohir thought about that for a minute before he said with a roll of his eyes, "Generally speaking…"

Elladan laughed, and then asked, "So, when do we head for home?"

"Jeren and I are not headed home when we leave here," Elrohir said. "Glorfindel has given us an area to scout." He looked facetiously at his brother. "You could come help us, you know…"

"Thanks, but I think not," Elladan replied with raised brows. "I think I will go visit with our father some; at least until he tires of my sparkling wit."

The two of them laughed quietly, and Elrohir continued studying the chessboard, but Elladan wasn't ready to drop the subject.

"But seriously, when do you think to leave?"

Elrohir craned his neck around to look at Jeren, who was reclining behind him on the bed that used to be his. She looked up at him, having been listening to the twins' entire conversation by now. She shrugged.

Since neither of them would commit to a day, Elladan said, "How about tomorrow? We can't be away fast enough to suit me."

"Tomorrow?" Jeren asked, looking stunned. "So soon?" She pursed her lips, trying not to show the anger that had suddenly risen in her. "You've had a month to be here with Jessa. Elrohir and I have been separated from her. And Andis has been with us all along—you know how much we've grown to love him. How is it fair, that we have to leave them so soon?"

Elrohir also looked surprised by his twin's suggestion. "I want to have time to make sure that Andis is settled, Elladan. That might take a few more days."

"You are right," Elladan said to Jeren. "I have had time to get used to the fact that Jessa does not need me in her life. She has a family now—a family that she fits in well with. It was a hard lesson for me to learn, and I would save you from going through the same thing." Then he turned to his brother. "Something else I have learned is that spending more time with them only prolongs the hurt. Do you seriously think that Andis will be settled as long as you are here, Brother?" Elladan's tone was firm, but not unkind. "As long as you are within his reach, he will reach for you."

The expression on Elrohir's face let his brother know that he'd hit a nerve. Elrohir got up to pace the small room. "I will not have him think that I have abandoned him by leaving too soon, Elladan. He's been through too much."

"Then how soon is too soon?" Elladan asked. "There is no good answer, Elrohir, and you know it."

"A clean break…" Jeren mused, then she looked up into Elrohir's eyes. His eyes met hers, but before they could say anything else there was a knock at their door.

"Enter!" Elladan said, his voice sharper than he intended when he realized Elrohir had made his move on the chessboard and now his queen was in dire jeopardy.

For the second time today, Jeren and Elrohir were surprised to see Rhyse on the other side of the door from them.

"Here you are!" Rhyse said, looking straight at Elrohir. "Jeananne and I have been looking for you for almost twenty minutes."

"Why?" Elrohir asked. "Is something wrong?"

Rhyse's face looked more perturbed than anxious, so Elrohir relaxed a little.

"Timm put the boys to bed a couple of hours ago, and they were sleeping soundly. But Andis woke up screaming just a short time later, and they've not been able to calm him since. He keeps calling for you."

"So Andis has been up for more than an hour calling for me, and you only thought to seek me within the last twenty minutes?" Elrohir asked. His voice sounded angrier with every word he spoke. Dawning incredulity passed over Elrohir's features. "_And_ you've been looking for me for almost a half hour? I'm not that difficult a person to find in this settlement, Rhyse!" He pushed past the man, waiting for no one, on his way to help with Andis.

"Timm and Jeananne are going to be the boy's parents now," Rhyse said to Jeren and Elladan, sounding as if he were trying to justify their actions. "Of course they waited to try and calm him themselves. They were just unable to do it."

"Yes, they are _going_ to be Andis' parents," Elladan said. "But they must remember that Elrohir has taken care of this boy since the moment we found him. Andis trusts him. They should have sent for my brother right away. They know of Andis' history, and if it was a bad dream that caused him to have such fright, they could have used Elrohir's guidance to ease the boy through the fear."

"I will relate to them what you said," Rhyse said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Though by now I'm sure they see their mistake. I will leave now and see if I can find my aunt and tell her that Elrohir has been found."

Jeren had gotten up to follow Rhyse out, but Elladan stopped her with a hand on her arm. "Don't go, Jeren," he said quietly. "Stay here with me. Elrohir can handle this and then he'll be back. They do not need us all intruding on them."

Jeren was torn. She was always with Elrohir when he calmed Andis down. True, she did little herself on these occasions, other than offer some comforting words to the boy, when he was finally quieter. But she knew that Elladan was right, so she settled back on the bed where she'd been before and picked up her book, determined to wait for Elrohir there.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Elrohir met Jeananne on the walkway near her cabin. "Thank goodness I've found you!" she said, her voice worried.

"Rhyse found me," Elrohir said, "I just wish that you would have seen the need to search for me sooner!" He was angry now—with good cause to be—and he didn't try to mask the wrath in his tone.

As they walked quickly together toward the small house, Jeananne said, "Timm wanted to try to calm the boy down for himself. He felt confident that Andis would settle for him. But it wasn't to be. And since Andis was on his way to being sick with fright—or sadness—we're not sure which—Timm finally relented and allowed me to come looking for you."

"I would have thought that the child's calling for me repeatedly would have been more than enough for Timm to relent, and much sooner." Elrohir stopped in his tracks then, placing a hand on the woman's arm to stop her, too. "I am sorry, Jeananne. You have been through enough without having me speak to you thusly."

She placed her hand over his, patting it slightly. "It is good that Andis has such a person in you, that cares so much about him. Would that all children might feel so loved."

She led the way into the cabin with Elrohir right behind her. The Elf's heart constricted when he saw Andis sitting on the stones of the hearth, his back to the fire, holding his head in his hands. His shoulders were heaving with sobs. Timm was sitting in the rocking chair just in front of Andis, his expression one of defeat, his hands clasped so tightly together that his knuckles were pale, and anyone observing him could see just how overwrought he was with his failure to quiet the boy.

Elrohir stopped just inside the door for a minute, trying to think of the best way to handle the situation now. He knew he shouldn't come to Andis' 'rescue', even though that was what he wanted to do. And he needed to include Timm in this, but couldn't quite figure out how—at first.

"Andis—" Elrohir called quietly.

The child looked up, his tear-streaked face hopeful at last. He got up from the hearth and ran to Elrohir, expecting to be picked up and held in a familiar, comforting embrace. But that's not what Elrohir did. He did, indeed, pick Andis up, but he deposited the boy into Timm's lap. The man looked up at Elrohir, very confused, but he held onto Andis, looking down into the child's face.

Andis reached for Elrohir again, and he looked as if he'd start crying once more, but Elrohir would have none of it.

"Do you not think you've cried quite enough by now, Andis?" Confused, the boy hiccupped, but didn't say anything. Looking at Timm, Elrohir asked, "Did Sean sleep through this upset, or is he upset as well?"

"He kept on sleeping," Timm replied. "The boys had a big day, riding the pony and helping with chores. Charlie came over soon after you and Jeren left, and as far as I knew, all was well."

Elrohir sat on the hearth, where Andis had been, facing the man and the boy in the rocking chair. Andis was still not at his ease, sitting straight up in Timm's lap, and when the man placed his hands on the boy's legs to keep him from sliding off, Andis peeled Timm's fingers away.

"Did you have another bad dream, Andis?" Elrohir asked.

The boy nodded, continuing to sit stiffly in Timm's lap and sniffling and hiccupping from all the crying he'd done.

"Was it the same dream you always have?" Elrohir asked gently. "Where the Orcs are attacking your family?"

Andis shook his head strongly from side to side. "No…"

Elrohir wanted to melt at the plaintive note in the child's voice. But he knew he could not do that. "Can you speak of it?" he asked instead.

The boy nodded his head sadly, but looked back at Timm with what looked like fright. "The monsters came here!" Andis said shakily. "And they were going to… They had their big knives, and they were killing… everyone!" Andis broke out into heartrending sobs then, and Elrohir wanted badly to take him from Timm and comfort him. But Timm took the initiative then, placing his arms around the boy and hugging him to him.

"Oh no, son," Timm said soothingly. "It was only a dream. That could not really happen here. Did you not see the great tall gates we have on the big wall outside?" Timm asked. "They are guarded at all times. You should look up on the wall tomorrow—you will see the sentries there. And every night those gates are closed tight. No one and nothing can get inside after dark. We are all safe here, Andi. Every one of us."

Andis looked at Elrohir as if his continued life depended on Elrohir holding him. The Elf couldn't resist any longer, and he held out his arms to the boy, and Andis quickly slid off of Timm's lap and onto Elrohir's, burying his face in Elrohir's shoulder.

Elrohir looked at Timm for a minute, trying to apologize without words, but Timm got up from the chair and went to sit at the table with Jeananne.

It took quite a while for Andis to calm down and quit his shaking and sniffling, but when he finally did, he looked up at Elrohir. "I'm sorry, El-ro-heer," Andis said through trembling lips.

"What are you sorry for, Andis?" Elrohir wanted to know. He could speculate a half a dozen things the child might say, but he truly didn't know what Andis would tell him.

"For cryin' like a baby for a real long time," Andis said, seeming almost disgusted with himself.

"I think if you would have trusted your Uncle Timm to help you, he could have; do you not think so, Andis?"

He nodded his head tentatively. "I wasn't cryin' all that time 'bout the dream," Andis admitted. "I was cryin' 'cause I missed you—a lot. Why did you leave me today, El-ro-heer?"

Now Elrohir wanted to cry, because he truly didn't know how to tell a child that he would never have chosen to leave him—but that he'd had to. How did you explain to a little boy that, while you loved him with all your heart, you were not related to him, but that these people were, and that they loved and wanted him to be a part of their lives?

_How did one explain that to a child?_

"I left because you are where you belong now," Elrohir finally said. "Your Uncle Timm and Aunt Jean love you, Andis, and they want you here to live with them."

"Don't you love me? Don't you want me with you in Rivendell?" Andis asked, his voice small, as if he feared the answer.

"Of course I love you, Andis," Elrohir said, hugging the child. "And I would love nothing better than having you live with me in Rivendell," Elrohir explained. "But I am a warrior, like Jeren is, and I have work that I must be about doing. I love spending time with you, but my superior officer is wanting me back at my task. He wants both Jeren and me back at our tasks."

"Who is your sup-er off-i-cer, El-ro-heer?"

"Do you have an idea who it might be?"

Andis nodded. "Lord Glorfedell?"

Elrohir nodded then.

"Were you doing your work when you found Jessa and me?" Andis asked, and Elrohir marveled at the simple logic children can have.

"Yes, Andis. Jeren and I—and Elladan, too—were all doing our chosen work when we found you and Jessa. And then it seemed as if you needed us for a time, so we took time to help you. But you and Jessa are strong and fit again, and we've found your family here in the settlement, so it is time for Jeren and me to leave you. I wouldn't have gone without telling you goodbye, but I wanted you to have this day with your family, so that you could see that you didn't really need me anymore. You can stand on your own two feet, and with your uncle to guide you, you will become a fine man someday."

Andis looked at his uncle across the room, and suddenly got off Elrohir's lap and walked over to where Timm was sitting with Jeananne. Timm watched the child's progress, a little puzzled over what might happen next.

The boy stopped beside Timm and lowered his face for a minute, before he said quietly, "I'm sorry, Unca' Timm. I shouldn'a been cryin' so much. But I missed El-ro-heer, and I was afraid it would make you mad if I told you 'bout it."

"It's all right, Andis," Timm said. "But do remember that I would not be mad at you for missing such a good friend as Elrohir is to you. Had I known that that was the problem, Andi, I would have sent for him much sooner. Never fear to tell me anything, Andis. I promise to you here and now that I will listen and be fair, just like your Papa used to do with you. Remember, I knew your Papa well. He was my brother."

Andis looked back at Elrohir again, but spoke to Timm. "Then will it be all right if El-ro-heer helps me go back to sleep? He won't be here much longer to tuck me in at night or to do any of the other things he always does with me…"

"That would be fine with me, Andi, if Elrohir is agreeable."

Elrohir held out his hand for Andis, ready to take him back to bed, and Andis took it, but when Elrohir turned toward the room that the boys shared now, Andis hung back, not following, tugging on the Elf's hand instead.

Elrohir looked at the boy in question, and Andis asked, "Could we do the ex-ser-cises first?"

Elrohir had often calmed the boy completely after a nightmare by going through the sword training exercises before having Andis return to bed. The exercises were unhurried and thoughtful, going through motions slowly, designed to have the student think about the way his body was moving, and ultimately making the movements familiar and automatic. Elrohir looked at Timm, silently asking his permission. Timm nodded his head…

So Elrohir and Andis went through the exercises right there in front of the fire; exercises that Glorfindel had taught them both—the Elf, centuries ago, and the child weeks ago.

"I will always 'member how to get calm from nightmares from now on, El-ro-heer, even when you aren't here to help me do the ex-ser-cises anymore," Andis said sadly.

Elrohir picked him up then and carried him to the room he now shared with Sean. He put the boy to bed and sat beside him for a minute. "Always remember that you have a friend in me, Andis, son of Anders."

"I will, El-ro-heer, son of…" the boy drew his brows together for a moment, but then smiled, "…son of Elron'."

Elrohir smiled and tousled the boy's blond hair. Andis looked thoughtful, before he said, "Are you gonna leave soon?"

Elrohir looked solemnly at the child in the bed. "Yes, Andis. Probably tomorrow. But not before I say a final goodbye to both you and your sister. So sleep well tonight and I will see you in the morning."

"Will Jeren come, too?" Andis wanted to know.

"Yes, she will come. And Elladan will as well."

Andis nodded and turned over, but he didn't close his eyes at first. He took hold of Elrohir's hand and held it, and finally his eyes fluttered closed. Elrohir sat there until Andis' breathing completely evened out and he was sure the child was asleep. He eased his fingers from the child's relaxed grasp and got up from the bed. He leaned down and kissed the boy one last time, then placed his hand on Andis' head and murmured an Elvish blessing.

Elrohir stood up tall, although his soul hurt deeply, and turned to leave the room. He was surprised to see Timm at the door, and as he walked past the man, Timm shut it behind them.

"Thank you, Elrohir," Timm said, looking apologetic. "I should have—"

"—no, Timm. You were right to try and calm Andis yourself. I think that tonight he was just scared—of many things. One of those things was that I had abandoned him. In my effort to give you and Jean time alone to get used to the boy today—and him to you—I neglected to explain my actions to him. He felt that I had deserted him. This is as much my fault as yours."

They walked back toward Jeananne, still sitting at the table. She got up from her chair. "Would you stay for tea?" she asked. "It won't take but a minute…"

"Thank you, but no," Elrohir said. He had to get out of this house and away from everyone before the emotion in his heart revealed itself in company he barely knew. "We will be leaving tomorrow… sometime in the morning, I suppose." He looked a bit sheepish. "I haven't really spoken to Jeren about this. She will be heartsick that she didn't get to spend more time with the children, but I think that now Andis truly expects to be on his own with you, and the sooner we make that happen the better."

Timm held his hand out to the Elf, and Elrohir took it. "Thank you, Elrohir, for all you have done for the children—especially for Andis. And thank you for your help tonight."

"No thanks necessary, really," he said as he backed toward the door. "Just take good care of him, is all I can ask." And with that he was gone, walking quickly toward the cabin that he'd shared with Jeren last night.

There was no welcoming glow at the window, so he knew she was still with Elladan in his room. He wanted to go to her now, but he wanted no one to witness what he imagined would be quite a breakdown for him. He let himself inside, and after closing the door, he stood with his back against it for several moments, taking hold of his bond with Jeren, so that—if it were possible—he could keep the brunt of his sadness from her.

When he felt he had as much control over his marriage bond as he could possibly have, he made his way to the chair that sat in front of the now cold fireplace. The tub had been removed sometime during the day. Elrohir's lips curved into a half-smile, thinking that Elladan probably called in some favor from someone else to see that chore done. His twin was not one to expend too much energy on something that he himself would not profit from in the end. But then, he thought, neither was he…

He sat there in the darkness, holding his head in his hands, willing the pain in his heart away, but it wouldn't go. He would have to endure all the emotions that felt as if they were choking the very life from him if he were to even hope to banish them, and that was something he truly dreaded doing. When an Elf dealt with feelings that were pent up to fever pitch, it was as strenuous as doing an entire day's work. And Elrohir was already tired.

Tired of holding this in. Tired of pretending in front of everyone that his world wasn't shaken; that one small boy hadn't rocked his life to the core.

_How could this be? _

He'd helped with the raising of many little boys, seeing them to manhood in Imladris. None of them, save one, had he ever felt this strongly about before.

Until now. Why now? _Why Andis?_

Did he truly need an answer to banish the pain? He thought not. What difference could it make? The pain would still be there, even if he'd managed to decipher the mystery of it.

He began to breathe deeply and slowly, knowing that doing just that one little thing always helped tremendously. He was going to have to sort through all these feelings that were festering inside him or soon they would erupt in a temper, with him blowing some small misstep someone made into gigantic proportions, and his resulting collapse would turn a Mortal's blood completely cold. He dared not risk such a thing here at the settlement.

He could remember Erestor telling both him and Elladan, when he'd teach them their lessons of history, about how he believed that all the Elves who ultimately turned bad had let hate fester within their hearts, and if an Elf ever felt overwhelmed by some negative emotion, then he should work very hard to rid himself of it, if it were to stubbornly hang on. It was a lesson that he and Elladan had taken to heart, because over and over again—at least in their lives' experiences—the twins had thought that Erestor's words had a definite ring of truth to them.

He closed his eyes, continuing his slow in and out breathing, and began to sort through the feelings that plagued him. There was sadness so keen it felt like a physical pain. There was also anger—that Timm had been found at all and had come to claim the children. Jealousy was there, that Andis had so quickly taken to the man. And hurt, that Andis no longer needed him. Along with all these emotions were also feelings of shame and guilt, that he could harbor such rancor within himself.

He combed his fingers through his hair, making an unruly mess of it. He reached to the back of his head and untied the leather thong that held his hair away from his face, and as he pulled it free, he shook his head to allow it to spill down his shoulders. He thought of his father's elaborate braids and how he'd fought against falling into that vain trap right along with him. But a warrior couldn't waste the time with the accomplishment of such an affectation, nor could he risk giving his enemy an unintentional handhold during a battle.

He shook his head again, trying to clear his thoughts of anything other than his task at hand. It was always easy to give in to the temptation to not tend to emotion—the work was exhausting and difficult, especially with someone like Elrohir, who hated weeping and would fight it at all costs. He leaned over again, his elbows on his thighs, and clasped his hands together, resting his forehead against them, ready to keep his mind on what he needed to do.

But relief would not come…

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Elladan sat slumped over, with one elbow on the table and his chin resting in his hand, as he studied the mess Elrohir had left him with on the chessboard, trying to figure a way he could still win this game. He glanced up from the board, blinking his eyes several times, and realized that he'd been lost in thoughts so deep that he'd momentarily forgotten where he was. He looked at the game again, and frowned at the realization that Elrohir had truly gotten the best of him this time. His queen was trapped, and there was nothing he could do about it.

He sat up straight and stretched his back, looking over to Elrohir's bed where Jeren was fast asleep. He glanced at the timepiece on his desk, amazed at the passage of time. It had been over an hour since his brother had gone to Timm's to help him with Andis. He reached inward, searching for the gentle hum of his twin's presence and found it almost completely undetectable. They'd not been blocking each other for a while. _Why was Elrohir keeping him out now?_

Elladan got up from his chair and placed a blanket over Jeren, but then he turned the lamps low so that there was barely any light at all. He not only knew where he'd find his brother, he also had a good idea about what Elrohir was doing and why; and why the bond he had with his brother was all but silent. He quietly opened the door, closing it even more carefully after him, on his way to the cabin to help his twin fight through the emotional stranglehold he was caught in, caused by his love of two small Humans.

It took him a scant five minutes to cross the settlement and enter the cabin that belonged to their father. He closed the door without a sound, although he knew that Elrohir had sensed his presence even before he'd stepped over the threshold. His twin sat hunched over with his head in his hands before the unlit fireplace, and the tension emanating from him was almost a tangible thing.

"Elrohir…" he called softly.

Elrohir sat up straighter and swiped a hand over his face. "What is it, Elladan? Where is Jeren?"

"She's asleep in your bed."

Elrohir's head jerked around to check the empty bed in the center of the room, and then he turned back to glare at his brother.

"In what _used_ to be your bed, then," Elladan corrected. "In our old room." He walked toward Elrohir and when he reached him, he squatted down next to his chair. "What has you blocking me, Brother?" he asked gently.

Elrohir looked at his twin, his mirror image. When he was young, he had felt like only one half of a whole. They'd completed each other in ways that astounded not only them, but others around them as well. Their silent communicating was rare among Elves and more than once they'd had their parents looking at them warily, shaking their heads. But as they became young adults, they frequently began going their separate ways. It happened subtly and over a great period of time. They were and always would be connected by their bond, he supposed. He guessed that it was akin to the marriage bond, and when he'd shut off Jeren's access to him, he'd also shut off his brother as well. And now Elladan was here, inquiring about things Elrohir had hoped to keep to himself.

"It's nothing I can't handle alone, Elladan," Elrohir said, as he leaned over, his elbows back on his knees. Again he scraped the hair away from his face with one hand, holding it back for a few seconds and then letting it fall forward again.

"I suppose that's a fair enough answer," Elladan said as he sat where he'd been crouching. "But pardon me while I make myself comfortable and stay; I feel like talking." He smiled at the explosive sigh that came from his brother, and hoping to appease Elrohir just a small bit, he waited a few minutes before he broke the silence. "So, how did it turn out with Andis? You were at Timm's house for quite a while."

"How do you know how long I was there?" Elrohir asked, feeling his voice rise along with his temper. And he really had no reason to be wroth with his twin.

"I _don_'t know, since you've shut me out. I suppose I was only assuming…"

"You know what they say about never assuming…"

Elladan chuckled. "Yes, I know what they say about that."

When Elrohir didn't answer his question, Elladan asked it again. "Were you able to get Andis calmed?"

"_Yes_, Elladan," Elrohir answered impatiently. "Listen, I cannot talk right now. I need some time to myself. Would you grant me the favor of leaving?"

"No, I don't think that I will," Elladan said, and Elrohir's eyes quickly darted toward his brother, to see if he could figure out just exactly why his twin was baiting him. Elladan's face wore a needling half-grin and his eyes glinted darkly in the dimness of the small cabin.

Elrohir leaned over again, resting his face in his hands. "Why are you doing this, Elladan? Why can you not leave me be?" His voice was weary and sad, and if Elladan had been undecided before about helping his brother, he was assured then that he was doing the right thing.

"Because I could have used you at my side two weeks ago, when I suddenly realized that I hated Timm and Jeananne for having the audacity to be related to the child that I loved! And I came very close to telling them so!" He had answered Elrohir with quiet vehemence, but when he spoke next, after having placed a hand on his brother's knee, his voice was gentle again. "Let me help you, Elrohir. I found this one of the most difficult things I had ever been through, and I thought I'd been through some very difficult things."

"We _have_ been through some difficult things, Elladan," Elrohir put in. "That's why I find this situation so ironic. I cannot fathom why I feel the way I do, but there is no mistaking it—I want to be a parent to Andis. And to Jessa, as well. Why them? Why now? They have a family. All the children we ever fostered in Imladris had families. And the knowledge of that was always enough to allow me to let go of them. Why can I not let go of Andis?"

"Because, like Estel, Andis had lost his father, and you had great sympathy for him. But regardless of that, Andis was the one child, of all the children we fostered in Imladris, who needed you the most. He didn't need Father and he didn't need me. He needed you. And you were there for him."

Elrohir suddenly got up from the chair and stalked to the window. "Well, he no longer needs me," he said, as he placed one arm alongside the window. He then rested his forehead against his arm.

His brother came up behind him, putting his hand on around Elrohir's shoulder. "Well tell me about tonight, then," he coaxed.

"There's nothing to tell, Elladan," he said, impatient again. He shrugged off his twin's hand and stood up straight, facing him.

Elladan heaved a sigh of frustration, realizing that his current tactics weren't working. He decided that if empathy was not winning his brother's confidence, then he would just have to make Elrohir angry. "You were gone for over an hour, and you've nothing to say about it?"

"Leave me alone!" Elrohir tried to storm away, but Elladan held on to one of his arms. Elrohir jerked it out of his brother's grasp. "I mean it, Elladan," he said menacingly. "Leave me be."

Elladan coolly moved a short distance away, but turned and said, "I suppose Andis had another nightmare; is that right?"

"_Yes_…" Elrohir answered sharply. "Elladan—" he said, warning his brother off again.

"And then you arrived and made it all better?" Elladan's tone was acrid and full of sarcasm.

"No… I mean yes…"

"Well is it no or yes?"

"It's both!" Elrohir shouted. "I made it better and I set him straight! What do you want of me, Brother? Why are you torturing me?"

"Torture?" Elladan said in a scoffing tone. "You know the sorts of things I do to get answers to questions, Brother, and you call _this_ torture?" He laughed mirthlessly as he strolled further away. "I simply want to know what happened with Andis."

"Elladan—leave me alone."

Elladan returned to where his brother stood. He braced himself, because what he was going to say next was so inflammatory that Elrohir wouldn't be able to keep himself from reacting violently. Elladan knew it was going to take the desecration of something very dear to his brother to help break this dam he had built around his heart. He was now so near to Elrohir that despite the chokehold his twin had on their bond, Elladan could feel in his own heart the pain Elrohir was trying so desperately to hold back.

"Come on, Elrohir," he said with a sly smile on his face. "All is not lost, since you cannot have Andis. Even though Jeren barely qualifies as a woman, she is female—and your wife—and if the Valar will it, she might could still give you a son."

Elladan saw the dangerous glint in his brother's eye and could literally feel how much Elrohir wanted to hit him, but despite the peril he was now in, he completed his comment. Nudging his twin with his elbow, he winked and said, "And, _knowing_ her as I do, it would be a very pleasant thing for you as you tried to accomplish that goal."

Elrohir reacted so fiercely and quickly, that Elladan didn't have the time to block his brother's first blow. Elrohir had hit him so hard just below his left eye that Elladan nearly lost consciousness. He shook his head and tried to sidestep Elrohir's next shot, but his fist connected with his twin's jaw, another very hard punch that made Elladan stumble backward. Before he fell, Elrohir hit him again. Elladan hit the floor with his back, and Elrohir grabbed the front of his twin's tunic, and he pulled Elladan up slightly from the floor as he spoke his next words: "If you expect to see the light of day tomorrow, you had better not make another reference to the time you spent with Jeren! I'll _kill_ you!"

Elrohir shoved his brother downward as he let go of his clothes, and Elladan was more unconscious than not when he rested on the floor again. He instinctively rolled into a defensive ball with his hands covering his head. Through the haze of semi-consciousness, he thought about how badly Elrohir would feel when he finally came back to himself; but mostly, he thought, even though he was only trying to help, he'd had this beating coming. He himself would have beaten anyone else who had said the things that he had about Jeren, and he wouldn't think to defend himself, even if he'd been aware enough to do it.

After several minutes had passed Elladan came to. He hadn't realized he'd been completely knocked out, but he was suddenly being cradled in his brother's arms, and Elrohir was rocking him, as if he were a small child. He didn't let on for a few minutes that he was aware; for whatever reason, this closeness with Elrohir right now seemed worth the beating he'd taken.

It happened rarely in their lifetimes that they'd come to blows over something, and it had been a very great while since they had, but whenever they did have physical confrontations, the one who'd come out on the winning side of the fight was always the most remorseful, whether he'd been on the right or the wrong side of the argument in the first place. They couldn't stand to be at odds with one another for long, and usually were even more steadfast in their devotion after they'd suffered through such an event, which, due to their closeness, was always traumatic indeed.

"Elladan, please," Elrohir pleaded. "Please wake up. I didn't mean to hit you—it just… happened. I'm sorry, Brother. Please wake up."

When Elladan felt the teardrop fall onto his throat, he knew he'd been successful in his plan to help Elrohir ease the emotion that had built in his heart. It had come at a high price to his face, he knew, since he was beginning to feel the results of the pummeling that he'd taken. He didn't want to show his hand prematurely though; Elrohir needed some time to release all the sadness and other emotions he'd been suppressing. After what seemed like quite a while to him, but which was only mere minutes, Elladan started to open his eyes and was surprised at the effort it took.

He held up a hand, showing he did indeed still have life in his body, and at the same time said, "No harm done, Elrohir." He was surprised at the tone of his voice; it had sounded foreign, as if it belonged to someone other than he. Disembodied almost. Mumbling…_ Had Elrohir even been able to hear what he'd said?_

And he hadn't really understoon where that comment had come from, because at the moment, he felt as if great harm _had_ come to him—at least to his face. He dreaded looking into a mirror anytime soon. He moved his jaw to make sure that he could, and while the pain was intense, it seemed as if everything was in working order.

"Thank Ilúvatar," Elrohir whispered at seeing Elladan's eyes open at last.

"Help me up," Elladan said.

"Not yet," Elrohir replied. "Just lay here for a moment longer, Brother, so that I can make sure you are truly all right."

Not yet having the strength to do other than comply, Elladan relaxed again. He lifted his hand to his face, cradling his sore jaw, and tested it again, moving it around some more. For all the pain he was enduring from it, he thought surely it must be broken. But his investigation again proved that it was working as it should.

"Come on, Elrohir," Elladan finally insisted. "I am fine. Help me up."

So Elrohir took his brother's elbow and gradually brought him to his feet. Elladan swayed where he stood for a second, shaking his head again in an attempt to clear it more thoroughly. He blinked his eyes slowly several times, as if he might be seeing double—or triple—but he finally focused on Elrohir.

"Elladan…" Elrohir began, his voice shaky. "I am sorry. I never meant… I don't know what came over me."

Elladan chuckled weakly and said, "Blind rage came over you, Brother. That's all."

"You know I didn't mean what I said… About killing you…"

"Ah, but Elrohir," Elladan said warily, "I believe you really did mean it. But you have successfully convinced me of one thing: I will never—ever—bring the subject up again, even if we are faced with another instance such as this one. It was dirty and beneath even me."

Elrohir chuckled at that and hugged his brother, and when he finally released him, he placed his arm around Elladan's shoulders as he went to lead them out of the cabin. He opened the door and closed it after them both, and again he put his arm around his twin, holding him steady, because without Elrohir's support, it was doubtful that Elladan would have made the entire trip back to his room without falling.

They walked several minutes without speaking, but finally Elrohir said, "You know, Elladan, I think I'm feeling a little better."

Elladan stopped, pulling away from Elrohir and staring at him. "Only a _little_?"

Elrohir laughed as he drew Elladan back to him, and the two of them went on their way to Elladan's room, one brother holding the other up, after the other had given his all to set his twin free.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**A/N: So very sorry for the delay in this chapter's posting. Real life has been a _itch lately. I hope to do better next time.  
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**A/N2: Thanks so very much for any and all reviews. Feedback is like life blood for a writer, and every single note-whether encouragement or criticism-helps a writer keep trying to get better and better.**

**A/N3: I have made reference in this chapter (twice) to "Never assume anything..." The full quote is along the lines of, "Never assume anything; you will make an 'ass' out of 'u' and 'me'." I got to wondering about where that saying came from, and upon Googling it, I found that it has been attributed to different people, from Oscar Wilde to Morton Schapiro. So I don't know who actually came up with it, but I've heard it most of my life. I first heard it when I was young, from one of the librarians in my hometown library. I love you, Mrs. Sanchez!  
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	40. Chapter 40

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle-earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Elrohir got Elladan back to his room as the wooden clock on the desk chimed ten. Elladan wanted to finish the chess game, but Elrohir decided that he must have hit his twin harder than he'd thought. Why else would he be interested in playing when he was barely conscious? And since he was still supporting much of his brother's weight, he opted not to listen to him. He bypassed the table on which the game stood waiting for them and took Elladan to his bed instead, and he didn't complain about it.

"Why'd you hit me after I was down, Brother?" Elladan asked as he prepared to sit, but the quirk of his grin showed he wasn't angry, he was just trying to ease the tension, hoping to make his twin smile. He wanted to make Elrohir understand that there were truly no hard feelings between them.

Elrohir smiled slightly, but didn't answer, because it seemed as if Elladan didn't remember the events quite as they had occurred. He hadn't hit Elladan after he was down, but he had shoved him hard. He gave his brother a look that told him he was feeling extremely guilty about the entire thing and no amount of teasing was going to change his mood.

"My ribs truly didn't appreciate that love tap you gave them," Elladan then complained as he lowered himself slowly to sit on the mattress.

"Do you think that any are broken?" Elrohir asked, and his tone made it clear that he regretted hitting his brother at all.

As Elladan sat there, his hand holding his right side, he shook his head no, but then winced. It looked as though he had a ferocious headache as well.

"You aren't concussed, are you?" Elrohir asked him, and the guilty timbre of his voice had only grown stronger.

"No," Elladan said quickly, making Elrohir look at him suspiciously. Despite his brother's skeptic expression , Elladan went on,"I think it's my jaw that is paining me worst of all."

Elrohir pulled his twin's boots off and helped him to lie down, even going so far as covering him up.

"I haven't felt so well-cared for since we were Elflings and Naneth tucked me in at night," Elladan said sarcastically, with his brows drawn together in a perturbed frown.

"Bear with me," Elrohir replied. His movements were slow and deliberately gentle, and every one of them seemed to be filled with remorse. He fetched a cloth and poured some water into a bowl from a pitcher that stood on one corner of the desk. He moved the bowl to a small table beside Elladan's bed, and then dipped the cloth into the water, wringing it out. He placed it against the bruise that took up most of the left side of his twin's face.

"I wish this were colder…" Elrohir said more to himself than to his brother.

Elladan cringed away from the contact, but Elrohir was persistent. "Hold this here," he said, taking his twin's hand and placing the cold, wet cloth in it, and then guiding it until it rested against Elladan's face again. "I'll take Jeren to the cabin and brew some Valerian for you. I'll have it ready soon."

"You don't have to go to so much trouble, Elrohir," Elladan insisted. "I knew when I said what I did that you wouldn't take it very well. Your reaction wasn't a shock to me, nor do I hold you at all responsible for my current condition. Just go on to bed. I'll be fine."

Elrohir huffed out a laugh. He'd made this very same speech, or variations of it, many times during his life with his brother, and when the tables had been turned, Elladan had never been able to forget his guilt over having injured him either. He'd had bruises before, such as these that now adorned his twin's face, and from experience he knew that without some sort of pain relief, even trying to walk the dream paths wouldn't be very restful. He figured that Elladan would actually sleep tonight, since he'd been knocked out cold for several minutes and needed to recuperate from that. If he had Valerian in him, too, well, he was sure to rest.

"I'll be back as soon as I have the tea brewed," Elrohir said, as if his brother hadn't even spoken at all. He then went to crouch beside the bed where Jeren was sleeping. The temptation to gather her up into his arms and carry her back to the cabin was great, but he knew he'd been pushing his luck this morning when he'd tried to hurry her along by 'helping' her so much. She'd come just shy of turning prickly, and now, if he added her state upon being awakened… There was no telling how she would react.

He ran the backs of his fingers over her cheek a few times until she began to stir, finally opening her eyes.

"Let's go back to the cabin, Jeren," he told her.

She stretched like a cat after a long nap, and then sat up. She shook her head to clear it as she rose, and as she walked toward the door, she spied Elladan, bruised and battered, lying on his bed with his eyes closed.

"What happened to him?" she exclaimed. She turned to Elrohir and was surprised to see him looking back at her guiltily.

"_I_ happened to him," he said. She opened her mouth to ask for more explanation, but he held a hand up to stave off any more of her questions. "I'll tell you about it later. For now, we must get back to the cabin so that I can brew some Valerian for him."

They walked to the cabin in silence, but as soon as they'd crossed the threshold and closed the door she said, "All right, so explain. What happened to Elladan? What did you mean by '_you_ happened to him?"

She didn't realize that she had been talking to his back until she turned toward him after closing the door. Elrohir had gone directly to the hearth and laid the wood for a fire. He didn't act as if he'd even heard Jeren speak. "Elrohir?" she called, trying to regain his attention.

After finishing the task he'd started, he got up and went to the wardrobe, where he looked inside for his things. "I'll explain all the sordid details as soon as I return," he finally answered absently. "Would you start the fire, please, Jeren?" He found his saddlebags and began to rummage through one of them.

"You want _me_ to start the fire?" she asked incredulously as she frowned at him, very much taken aback by his request. In all her life she'd never seen a male—Man or Elf—delegate the chore of starting a fire if he were anywhere near at the time one needed starting. That had been something that had irritated her since she was very young, because when it had been only her and her mother living in the cabin, she'd often had the chore of laying the wood in order to get the best flame, as well as setting fire to it. She'd grown very proficient at it, but whenever there were any males around, they always—always—did the chore, as if no woman would ever be capable enough to accomplish it. Yet when it came to the kitchen, and stoves that needed stoking or lighting, men were nowhere to be found. She wondered why he'd seen fit to lay the wood, but not set fire to it. She decided it must be whatever had happened with Elladan that was preoccupying him so completely right now.

He continued his search, still not looking at her. Frustrated, he took the saddlebags over to the bed and dumped them out, riffling through the various items until he found what he'd been looking for. He held the packet of Valerian up triumphantly, but suddenly realized he'd not been paying attention to what Jeren had said. Thinking quickly, he remembered where he'd paused in the conversation. "Y-you don't mind starting the fire, do you?" he stammered, and he grimaced as he heard how his own hesitant words sounded like an afterthought.

But it didn't seem as if she'd noticed his lack of attention, or if she did, she didn't let on.

She'd thought for a moment about what he'd asked. No, of course she didn't mind lighting the fire, she was just dumbfounded by him requesting her to do it at all. And oddly hurt. This was a far cry from his overindulgence of her the past couple of days. Against his advice this morning, apparently, she _had_ unintentionally grown used to having his attention focused on her.

She set about getting the kindling lit, and even though her back was to him, she said, "So tell me what happened between you and Elladan that resulted in his face being beaten black and blue."

"I told you I'd tell you all as soon as I return," was his reply, and his tone suggested that he hoped she'd forget about it entirely. He was filling an iron teapot that he'd found from somewhere, with water that had been in a pitcher standing on a table beside the bed.

She wasn't willing to wait any longer for him to tell her what had happened while she'd been sleeping. _Her curiosity was killing her. _"Elrohir, you have time to tell me now. You can't go back to him until you have the Valerian brewed," she reminded him sensibly.

She had found a box of tapers near the hearth, and after she had the fire truly going, she was using one to spread the flame to strips of dry bark that Elrohir had used as kindling that he'd placed among the larger pieces of wood.

When Elrohir didn't say anything, she turned around, rising from her crouch on the hearth. He was right behind her, standing there waiting for her to finish with the fire, and he looked at her with what she thought was guilt—with a bit of remorse thrown in.

She could tell by the look on his face that his conscience probably needed easing, so she continued to press. "Elrohir?"

"Let me get this going and I'll tell you," he said resignedly, as he crossed the few steps to the fireplace. He put the kettle on the crane, shifting it so that the teapot was over the flames.

Jeren leaned against the tall, wooden bedpost at the foot of the bed and waited for him to speak. He stood there looking into the blaze for a few seconds, but then he turned and walked back toward her and sat on the bed.

"I went to Timm's to see to Andis," he started. "And after I left there, I was very… emotional… again."

His tone seemed fraught with embarrassment, but it was hard to tell whether it was from needing emotional healing in the first place or from childishly fighting with his brother.

"I decided to come here and try to get some of the anger and pain out of my heart. I had a hold on my bond with Elladan, but maybe I didn't think that through well enough…"

He paused and frowned, remembering what exactly had brought his brother to the cabin in the first place: Elladan had grown suspicious when he realized that he could barely feel his connection with his twin. He closed his eyes, remembering again how angry he'd been and the damage he'd done to his brother as a result. Glancing up at her, he finished, "He came here to find me and 'help' me. I was too stubborn to accept his aid so he goaded me into losing my temper—which didn't take much goading, really."

"Oh Elrohir…" Jeren said as she shifted around to stand before him, insinuating herself between his knees. She placed her hands on his shoulders and he settled his fingers at her waist, needing the comfort of touching her.

"I can't believe I hit him so hard. I was in a blind rage and I really could have hurt him." He looked up into her eyes, his sadness apparent. "I'm not sure I didn't hurt him badly; but he isn't letting on."

"What did he say to set you off?" Jeren asked, curious about the fight between him and Elladan. But not only did Elrohir not answer, he also looked away, as if he were ashamed. Deciding not to pursue it at present, she asked instead, "Why did you not come and wake me up?"

"I thought I could handle it myself," he said quietly. "I usually can. This time… has been different. In many ways."

They stayed silent for several moments, until finally Jeren said, "Don't feel too badly about Elladan. He had to have known how you'd react. You said he was goading you, after all."

"Yes, he was," Elrohir said resolutely, remembering just what his twin had said that had sparked his fury. He hugged Jeren around the waist and leaned the side of his face against her chest. She ran her hands over his hair, and then down the back of his neck onto his shoulders, caressing the taut muscles under her palms.

"I love you," he said softly, as if the world lay heavy upon him.

Jeren smiled sadly, feeling his sorrow through their bond. "I love you, too, Elrohir…"

Something occurred to him then, and he sat up abruptly, keeping his hands just above her hips. "You may not love me quite so well after you find out what else I've done."

She sat beside him on the bed. "What else did you do, Elrohir, that is going to make me not love you?" she asked with exaggerated gravity and actually looking at him as if whatever he might tell her would be trivial indeed.

"I told Andis that you and I are leaving tomorrow…"

"You _what_?" she said loudly, suddenly gaining her feet. "Elrohir! How could you decide something like this without even consulting me?"

Elrohir suddenly realized that the water for the Valerian tea was boiling, so, trying to stall for time to talk his way out of this, he got up and grabbed a small towel that he'd found on top of the bedside table near the pitcher of water. He then pulled the crane out of the fireplace to get the kettle away from the flames. He gathered his supply of Valerian and threw a couple of generous pinches of it into the boiling water, then turned back to Jeren to finish their discussion while it steeped.

"If you'll remember, we talked about it briefly in Elladan's room before I left," he said in a justifying sort of tone. But as he saw the unhappiness on her face, he couldn't continue to try and defend what he'd done. He finally admitted, "I didn't plan it, Jeren… it just happened."

"Well I'm not ready to leave!" she exclaimed, and Elrohir was appalled to see tears in her eyes. It was then that he knew for certain that her ire was merely masking great sadness. The last thing he'd wanted to do was hurt her in any way.

"I'm not leaving tomorrow!" she continued ferociously. "I won't do it!" She walked determinedly several steps away and stood there with her back to him, breathing hard. Then he watched her shoulders visibly fall, as if she were deflating, sinking inside herself. She turned to face him and said, "Do you know how many times I've held Jessa since we've been here? Once, Elrohir. One time. And now you're expecting me to leave? I haven't held her enough! I never got to bathe her, feed her, rock her to sleep. I haven't—" She couldn't finish her sentence because her throat constricted with tears.

Elrohir went to her and held her as she wept. She rarely cried, and when she did he hated it almost as badly as she did; but he knew this was something she had to do in order to even begin to heal the gaping wound he could tell was tearing itself into her soul. "I am sorry I've made you cry, Jeren. I never mean to hurt—"

As if the words he'd used were some sort of magic incantation to stop her weeping, she abruptly stood up straight and pushed away from him, using her hands to wipe the tears from her face. "I'm not crying, Elrohir," she said, but at seeing the sad smile slowly creeping into his expression, she added, "Well, not really. I'm all right now. I just needed to be heard, I suppose."

Elrohir closed the small distance between them, placing his hands on her arms, marveling at how she could be weeping one minute and over it the next. He'd never seen another woman exhibit such behavior, unless it was her mother Jennah. "I know it seems as if I do things with no regard to your feelings sometimes—and you're right, I do. But this isn't one of those times. I promise. Andis asked me the question—'Are you going to leave soon?'—and I thought it best to decide right then and there."

"And you were right to do so," Jeren admitted. "As long as Andis expects us to be leaving tomorrow, then we'd best leave. I don't want to complicate matters for him or cause him any more upheaval than he's already been subjected to. For Valar's sake, he watched as his father was killed; taken from him, along with almost his entire family. Then he had to adjust to life without them, and then readjust to living with us." More tears leaked from her eyes as she remembered Andis' plight, and she quickly swiped them away. "And when he first met us, we were only the strangers who found him. Now he has to say goodbye to us—people he's grown to love—and learn to live with another family. Imagine how difficult all these things have been for such a small boy, but he's taken everything in stride."

Jeren shook her head sadly as she thought about all these obstacles Andis had conquered, along with the ones he still had to overcome. "No, I would never do anything to make things worse for him, and I am afraid it would confuse and hurt him if we stayed, now that he expects us to leave." She reached up and laid her hand against Elrohir's cheek. "And yes, you do make decisions for both of us without consulting me—more than I like." She gave his face a fairly strong tap, as if to punctuate her last sentence. "And that needs to stop!" She'd accented the last word she said with a harder tap on his face. "I cannot abide it, Elrohir. I won't abide it."

He grabbed her hand before she could strengthen her 'taps' to much harder 'slaps', but then he looked down into the space between them. He glanced back into his wife's eyes, guilt written plainly on his face. "You're right, Jeren," he said, and in an effort to restore peace added, "You have my word, I will work on this very bad habit of mine."

Jeren smiled and relaxed. "This time it was a call you had to make; you could not wait for me to be included. So you are exonerated for this unfortunate turn. I will be ready to go on the morrow. For now," she said, stepping toward the steaming kettle, "you must get this tea to your brother, so that you can return to me. I have thought of a plan in which you might redeem yourself."

Elrohir raised his brows and tried unsuccessfully not to smile. "A plan fraught with pain and agony for me, I'm sure."

"Could be," she said, raising one brow as a slow smile bloomed on her lips. She turned away from him and grasped the handle on the kettle with the towel that had been tossed beside the hearth for that purpose, and then handed it off to him.

"Hurry back…"

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

When Elrohir returned to Elladan's room, he found his brother sitting on the side of the bed, his head cradled in his hands. He placed the kettle down on the bedside table, and Elladan looked up at him, the pain in his eyes piercing Elrohir's heart. _He had done this to his own twin. He had injured flesh of his flesh…_

He placed the cup he'd brought with him onto the table and poured the tea, and then handed it to his brother. "Drink," was all he said.

Elladan nodded his head slightly and sipped, wincing at the nasty taste as well as the hotness of the draught he was drinking.

Getting right to the point, Elrohir said, "Jeren and I are leaving on the morrow. Do you think you'll be fit to ride?"

The look that Elladan gave him told him without his even uttering a word that of course he would be fit to ride—and that he resented such a question in the first place. He took another longer sip of the Valerian tea.

"I don't know what else to say other than I'm sorry, Elladan," Elrohir said. Even though Elladan had shot down his attempts at apology before, he couldn't resist trying again. Seeing his twin in this condition and knowing that he'd caused it, left him almost sick with remorse. _It had ever been this way between them…_

"Deliver me from all this _sappiness_, Elrohir," Elladan said crossly. Elrohir smiled. At least his brother was sounding like himself again. Elrohir pulled the chair that had been at the table where they'd been playing chess over to beside Elladan's bed.

"Don't get too comfortable," Elladan warned. "I am going to blow out the lamps and get some rest as soon as I've drunk all this tea." After taking a third good swallow of the wicked brew, he trained another sour look on his brother and added, "That is, unless the taste of it kills me first. Don't you ever sweeten your Valerian, Elrohir?"

"I tend to forget," he said. "Father is ever chastising me for it."

"I'd venture to guess that you don't forget the honey when you brew it for yourself."

Elrohir smiled then. "You would be guessing correctly."

Elladan shook his head slightly at his brother's poor attempt at levity and drained the cup. He put it down on the bedside table with a fairly loud report that echoed in the small room and caused him to wince in pain.

"_Good night_, Elrohir," Elladan said deliberately.

"Perhaps I should stay until you've fallen asleep."

"What makes you think I will sleep? I have in mind a particular dream path to follow this night, and I would appreciate the darkness and quiet to pursue it, if you will kindly remove your person from my room."

"You didn't use to object to my presence, Brother," Elrohir said with mock hurt.

"That was before you started emulating our Naneth. Now good night, Elrohir." He began to unbutton his shirt.

"Are you sure you aren't concussed?" Elrohir asked, ignoring his brother's demands.

"I am sure," Elladan said forcefully. "Go…"

"Good night, then," Elrohir said. He left the room but didn't go directly back to the cabin. He went to a water trough just off the street and used the hilt of his hunting knife to break the ice on its surface. He took the fairly large chunk he'd retrieved back to Elladan's room.

As he let himself inside the darkened room, he heard Elladan's explosive sigh.

"What _now_, Elrohir?"

"How did you know it was me?" Elrohir asked unnecessarily. He knew the question was ridiculous even before he'd asked it. He was just trying to distract his twin from being angry about his presence.

He placed the chunk of ice in the bowl of water on the bedside table, and then he stirred it with his fingers, until it was as cold as it was apt to get. He sat in the chair he'd vacated only moments before, and doused the cloth he'd been using previously on his brother's bruised face into the icy cold liquid, wringing it out and then placing it on Elladan's jaw.

"Elro_hir_…" Elladan said between clenched teeth. "Will you _please_ leave me be? I am fine. Just sore. You know that these bruises will be mostly gone by morning—_if_ you will allow me to get some rest."

"Shhh…" Elrohir soothed. "Go to sleep. Please indulge me, Brother. I won't make a sound; I'll just keep this up for a time. It'll help with the bruising. You know it will…"

"You just don't want anyone else to see how you've beaten your sibling," Elladan said harshly. But his tone changed when he continued, "_And_—with the evidence gone, you won't feel so much remorse. Quit with the guilt, Elrohir! If the tables were turned, would I be acting this way?"

The brothers looked at each other in the darkness, their Elven eyes able to see each other easily, and conciliatory smiles stole over both of their faces.

"Of course you would," Elrohir said. He rinsed the cloth in the ice cold water again and after wringing it out, placed it back against his brother's jaw.

"How long are you going to keep this up?" Elladan whined.

"For as long as I see fit," Elrohir said emphatically.

"I always thought I had a brother," Elladan said sullenly, "but come to find out, I've got another Naneth…"

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren and Elrohir had gone to Timm's house before the sun rose the following morning, but Timm and Jeananne were up, and the woman was already preparing breakfast. Today it was eggs and sausage and toast, and Jeren and Elrohir arrived just as it was time to awaken the children.

Elrohir went with Timm to wake the boys, and Jeren was setting the table when Claire brought Jessa into the main room. The girl had the baby perched on one hip, and Jeren watched the two together while she placed the silverware amongst the plates on the table. It was apparent that Claire adored Jessa, and Jessa, even at her tender age, was smart enough to be taking advantage of that fact. Anything that Jessa may want, Claire anticipated, so by the time the smaller child began to fuss, Clair would immediately place the object of her desire into her little hands.

Jeren frowned at this. She didn't want Jessa growing up feeling as if all of life's pleasures would just magically come to her. Having to work for something you wanted, or perhaps being made to wait for it, and the resulting disappointment, was part of what made a person strong. Elen had discussed this very subject with Jeren, when Charlie had been a baby and Jeren doted on him, wishing to give him all that he wanted, and Elen taking exception to it. Her aunt had gently but firmly explained why it wasn't a good idea to be indulging Charlie's every whim, and Jeren agreed and never did it again. Now she was undecided about how exactly to handle this, because she didn't think her heart would allow her to keep silent.

She looked toward Jeananne and saw that the woman had paused in her cooking to observe Claire with Jessa. She went back to stirring the scrambling eggs in the pan on the stove, so Jeren was doubly unsure as to whether to say anything or not. She wanted the best for Jessa, and being coddled and treated in a privileged manner would ultimately make her life harder, not easier. Jeren loved the baby and wanted only what was best for her. But she was not a mother, and she feared that trying to advise Jeananne would result in the woman's resentment.

Claire placed Jessa into her baby chair and began playing simple games with her. Jeren went to Jeananne, and said, "Claire really loves Jessa."

Jeananne smiled knowingly and said, "Yes, I'm afraid she loves her too well. I will speak to her today about spoiling her. As much as I love Jessa myself by now, I know children; if you give in when they are her age, they soon expect to be presented with everything they want, when they want it. I've seen it happen too many times."

Jeren breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that Jeananne had the situation well in hand. But then she smiled wanly, thinking about how Jessa now had a family who loved and cared for her. Jeren was definitely no longer needed in the baby's life. As valid as that truth was, it still hurt immensely to know it.

Elrohir and Timm brought the boys in then, each washed and dressed for breakfast. Andis ran to Jeren, hugging her around the legs. "Hello, Jeren!" he said enthusiastically.

She bent and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Good morning, Andis. Did you sleep well last night?"

Andis' large eyes found Elrohir's and a guilty sort of expression stole his smile. "After El-ro-heer came to see me, and we did the exercises, I felled asleep again. I didn't have no more dreams at all after that."

Jeren tousled the boy's blond hair. "I'm glad to be hearing it!

"Time to eat!" Jeananne announced, and everyone sat and began the meal.

"What'll we be doing today, Pa?" Sean asked Timm.

"We'll be doing a couple of different things today, son," he replied. "First, we're going to build a small bed for Jessa, and when we've accomplished that, we'll move it into your room, and move Claire back in there with you and Andis as well."

"And Claire and I will see to a mattress," Jeananne chimed in, smiling at her daughter across the table from her. Claire nodded her head excitedly, as if she couldn't wait to help her mother with that chore.

Jeren wrinkled her nose, thinking about all the feathers they would be working with, if they stuffed the mattress in such a manner. Since the pallet would be small, she thought that would be exactly what they would use.

"What else, Pa?" Sean asked. "That won't take long—probably not even till noon time. What'll we do after that?"

"Then we'll get to clearing the rocks from the land I bought, and if we finish with that today, we'll start the plowing so we can plant a winter crop."

"_Plowing_?" Sean asked, seeming very confused by Timm's statement. His father had never followed a plow, at least not in Sean's lifetime!

But Andis misunderstood. "I know what plowin' is!" Andis said excitedly. "You put the plow behind the cow, and then the cow pulls it along the ground, and it makes long lines in the dirt." He glanced up tentatively at Timm. "Rows, I mean. Then you plant the seeds and if it rains good, the plants—I mean, the crop—comes up."

Timm smiled at his young nephew. "That's exactly right, Andis, except we'll be using a mule."

"I already know what plowing is!" Sean complained loudly, with a sneering look at Andis. "I just don't know why _we're_ doing it. You're a ranger, Pa."

Timm's face took on an uneasy expression. "I used to be, son," he said. "Not anymore. I have my children to raise, and I can't do that and rangering, too."

Sean's face turned stormy. "You're only doing this because of _them_! _They_ came here to live and now you have to stay home! Send them back with Elrohir and Jeren! If they weren't here, you could be a ranger, like before!" Sean scooted his chair away from the table and ran back into his bedroom.

Timm and Jeananne exchanged glances. "I guess we should have told the children first," Timm said. "I really didn't think about Sean taking this badly. Doesn't he want me to be around?"

Jean put her hand on top of her husband's. "It isn't that, Timm. He's always been extremely proud that you're a ranger; that you can use a sword and pull a bow—not follow a plow. Farmers are not scarce in the settlement, you know. Most of his friends' fathers are farmers. If you'd been able to be around more, you would know that you being a ranger is all he talks about to his friends, and he plays 'Orcs and Rangers' outside with them all the time."

"Orcs ain't no game," Andis said gravely, pushing the eggs around on his plate with his fork. He looked up suddenly at those around him, as if he were surprised that he'd said the words out loud.

"No, Andis, they aren't," Timm replied sincerely.

"That's why _I'm_ learning the sword."

Timm looked as if Andis' words had sparked an idea for him. "Perhaps Sean might be interested in learning it, too. And while he's at it, he will learn that swords and Orcs are not really a game to be played."

"Maybe one of the retired rangers would agree to teach them," Elrohir put in, pleased at last that Andis was finally going to be able to continue his training. It wouldn't be as fine a schooling as he would have received in Rivendell, but he would be learning the sword, and that was something he would associate with defending himself against the perils that had already entered into his young life.

"And I believe I know exactly the man for the job, if he's willing," Timm said, looking keenly at Elrohir. "Do you know Old Dake?"

"I do," Elrohir said with a smile. "He would be an excellent choice if he agrees. He loves children."

"I've always thought that he's probably just a big child himself!" Timm said with a smile. "But even with his playful nature, Old Dake is dependable and steady. He'll make the boys a fine sword trainer." As he got up from his chair, his smile waned. "For now I'll go speak to Sean about being rude, and later today I'll ask Old Dake if he'd like the job. Perhaps in return for the lessons, I'll give him enough of my crop to feed himself, Valar willing that my crop grows. If only Sean knew how I was trading one risky job for another, perhaps he'd have more respect for farming. It takes a certain talent to grow things. I hope I have it in me somewhere." He placed his napkin beside his plate.

"I think that would be a good idea," Jeananne said, but then she added, her voice wary, "but don't be too hard on him, Timm. His life has changed, along with everyone else's."

"You know that I've never been 'too hard', Jean," he said defensively. But then he glanced around the table as if he'd just realized that more people than just family were gathered around it, and that Claire was sitting there, ears wide open. "Not to worry."

Jeananne smiled and nodded.

Jeren looked at Elrohir and could see that some of his anguish for Andis had eased. The troubled expression that had been dominating his features for quite some time looked to have been lessened somewhat. She supposed that until he had tangible proof that Andis was indeed thriving in Timm and Jeananne's care, he would retain some of the tension that had become a part of him lately. Perhaps being busy scouting would help as well.

Andis tugged on Elrohir's sleeve, frowning. "Did I do somethin' wrong?" he asked in a small voice. "I think Sean is mad at me."

"You did nothing wrong, Andis," Elrohir said as he rose from his chair. "Now come with me and we'll get Saedren ready to ride."

Andis' scowl deepened. "I almost forgot that you was leavin' today…" The boy's face was bereft, but Elrohir did nothing to ease his mind at the moment, he just took the child's hand and led him to where everyone's capes hung on hooks on the wall beside the door. He found the one that Andis wore and placed it around his shoulders, and then took him outside.

Jeren and Jeananne began clearing the table, and Claire got a damp cloth and started cleaning Jessa's hands and face.

"Claire," Jean said, "I want you to go to Elen's and see if they need any help there this morning."

Claire bit her lip, as if she would sorely like to stay and see to the baby, but she said, "All right, Mama."

As soon as Claire had closed the door behind her, Jean said, "Jeren, why do you not see to Jessa? Perhaps her nappie needs changing?"

Jeren smiled gratefully at the woman, knowing what she'd done for her. "Thank you, Jean."

Jean had her hands in sudsy water, washing the dishes. "Just take her in there," she said, motioning with her chin toward the bedroom she shared with Timm. "You will easily find Jessa's things in the wardrobe."

Jeren finished what Claire had started, wiping down Jessa's hands and face, and then took the baby into the bedroom where she now slept. Jessa smiled and said, "Jewi," as she clapped her hands, and then laid them each against Jeren's cheeks, leaning in close and giving Jeren a sloppy kiss.

Jeren took a minute to hug the child, loving how it felt to hold her again. She then laid the baby on the bed that Jessa now shared with Claire and changed her nappie.

She marveled at how much the child had grown! She was walking and could easily feed herself with a spoon now. And she'd begun putting sentences together; short, but understandable sentences. Soon she would be trained to where she wouldn't need the nappies anymore. She supposed that Jeananne was putting that off at least until their family's new members were feeling more at home and no more upheaval could be expected in their lives.

As soon as Jessa's diaper was changed, Jeren helped her stand up on the bed, but she didn't stay standing there long. She began to bounce and laugh, even though the mattress wasn't springy at all.

"That's a game I play with her," Claire said from the doorway, but she didn't advance further into the room. It was as if there were an imaginary boundary there that Claire could not cross. Jessa pointed at the girl and said, "Cwaire! Cwaire pway!"

Jeananne then appeared next to her daughter, drying her hands on a small towel. "When I said not to come into this room, I had hoped you would understand that I meant to leave Jeren and Jessa alone for a while."

Claire's smile faded and she looked toward her feet. "I'm sorry, Mama. I suppose I misunderstood." Jeananne smiled and patted her daughter's shoulder.

Jessa climbed into Jeren's arms then, but it wasn't Jeren she was truly desirous of. She only wanted down, so that she could get to Claire. It was then that the final tie holding Jessa to Jeren was broken, and Jeren lowered the child to the floor so that she could go to her cousin. Jessa and Claire were already close. Jessa would have a sister, and hopefully, that might help make up for the sister she'd lost to the Orcs. And having a sister was something that Jeren had never known.

She was glad for Jessa, but this letting go would be difficult. It helped that Jeren knew that Jessa was in good hands—with a strong and caring 'mother and father', as well as 'siblings' to help her along the road to growing up. Jeren supposed that since Jessa didn't have her real parents, that this would be the next best thing—not a woman warrior, who loved her dearly, but who would be out in the Wild most of the time, and not at the girl's side as a mother should be. And she'd have Andis, who, Jeren was sure, would continue to grow as well, and would, as he grew older, love his little sister with all his heart.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"I'm gonna miss you, El-ro-heer," Andis said as Elrohir was putting the tack on Saedren. The Elf put the bridle over the stallion's ears, whispering an Elvish apology for using the tack at all. He'd learned at a young age to trust his horse to keep him on its back, but his association with men had made him reluctant to so blatantly point out his differences from them by riding free of tack as most Elves did. At least he wasn't using a bit with the bridle.

The twins had begun using bridles and saddles only a short time ago—short as Elves reckon time. When they'd begun riding with the rangers of the Dúnedain, they'd not used tack at first, but they'd soon noticed that they weren't as widely accepted by the Men as they would have liked. It was then that they'd begun riding as men did, with saddles and bridles all the time, except for when they were at home. When Aragorn had been learning to ride, he was adamant about not using saddle or bridle. He wanted to be just like his Elven family, but Elrond had been just as stubborn about Estel riding as all Men did, and to keep the peace, the twins had begun using tack almost always when they rode.

To be completely fair with himself, Elves always went into battle with saddles and bridles, as well as armor for their horse at times. So his treatment of his horse wasn't frowned upon by any, since he spent a great deal of his time out in the Wild on the hunt for Orcs. It was difficult to keep saddlebags on a horse without a saddle to tie them to, and he needed the supplies that those bags carried. Before they began using saddles and bridles, he or Elladan would share the responsibility for a leather bag one or the other of them kept slung over his shoulder, that contained the medicaments and instruments they might need for healing. But the bag had been awkward and troublesome, so he didn't feel too badly now for using the conveniences at his disposal, whether they were strictly the Elvish way or not.

Andis was standing on a step stool beside Saedren's head, brushing the stallion's mane and forelock with a brush that Elrohir had given him. His hands were tiny against the war steed's huge head, but he was doing a fine job of making the horse's mane shiny and neat.

"I'm going to miss you, too, Andis," Elrohir finally said, when he was able to speak at all. Seeing the child willingly doing a chore, as he stood dwarfed in comparison to the huge stallion, had brought tears to the Elf's eyes. All Saedren would need to do would be to move his head unexpectedly, and the boy would go flying off the stool; but Andis wasn't afraid.

Saedren lipped the boy's blond hair and then snorted, making Andis' hair fly up, as well as 'sliming' it a little. Andis laughed, and Elrohir cherished the sound, promising himself that he'd place this moment in his heart, never to be forgotten.

Elrohir smiled as he smoothed Andis' hair out with his hands, wiping as much of the horse's slobber away as he could. The boy would need his hair washed tonight, but he was sure that Jeananne would notice and get the task done. He was just about to turn to reach for his saddle, when Andis sprang into his arms. The Elf held him close for a moment, but knew that prolonged scenes such as this would not be helpful to the boy—in fact it would be detrimental. So he leaned the child back in his arms, so that he could see his face, since he was not willing to put him down yet.

The child's expression was forlorn, almost fearful. "I don't wanna do this, El-ro-heer," he said sadly.

"Do what?" Elrohir asked him, although he knew what the boy was going to say.

"Stay here—without you. I don't want to El-ro-heer. I wanna go home with you and Jeren."

"Jeren and I are not going home, Andis," he said, trying to make sure his voice sounded calm and reassuring, even though inside he felt neither thing. "We are going scouting for Orcs, so that we can report their numbers and position to Lord Glorfindel. He will then send out his warriors to find them and kill them. Perhaps by doing our part, Jeren and I can keep the Orcs from coming upon some unsuspecting family, such as yours was. It is important work, Andis; do you not think so?"

Andis heaved a great sigh and looked down at Elrohir's shirt. "Yes, it is important," he admitted, his blue eyes pools of grief. But he suddenly gasped, as if something dire had occurred to him, and he threw his arms around the Elf's neck. "No, El-ro-heer!" he said, his lips nearly touching Elrohir's ear. His voice was strangely quiet. "Don't go to find any Orcs! What if they kill—Jeren?"

He paused again and leaned back, so that he could see Elrohir's face. A tear trickled from one of Andis' eyes, but then his expression changed to one of raw fear, since he could see that what he'd said hadn't gotten the reaction he'd expected from the Elf. He finally said what was really on his mind. "What if they kill—_you_?"

Elrohir enfolded the boy into his arms, holding him there for a few moments, but then he calmly placed Andis' feet back onto the stool where he'd been standing before. He reached for the saddle and put it onto Saedren's back, and as he buckled the cinch, he said, "I could tell you falsely, Andis, that the Orcs will never kill me, but I know that you are too smart to believe that. Yes, there is a possibility that Jeren or I could be killed. But I hope it comforts you when you remember that we're both highly trained warriors, much smarter than Orcs are—and that is a fact, not fiction. We are cunning trackers and even more wily hunters. We will be able to spot the Orcs and be away, even before the beasts know that we've been there. Lord Glorfindel has trained us thoroughly."

Andis reached out and touched Elrohir's face, and the Elf turned to look at the boy. It was as if Andis had needed to see into Elrohir's eyes to make sure that he wasn't telling him falsely.

"I know Lord Glorfedell has trained you good." He paused just slightly, then added, "You'll be real cun-cunning and… w-wily?" He'd asked the question as if he wasn't exactly sure what the words he could barely say meant.

"We will be extremely careful and clever," Elrohir said with certainty, making sure that he used words that the boy would have no trouble understanding.

Then knowing it was time to change from this woeful subject, he said, "Besides, you have a new family now, Andis; one that loves you and wants you here with them. Your Uncle Timm went to Imladris to claim you—that should prove to you how much you are wanted. They are blood of your blood, which might not mean very much to you now, but one day, when you are older, you will understand what that means, and you will treasure it."

Andis' expression changed to a resigned one then. "All right, El-ro-heer," he said stoically. "If you say I should stay, then I will stay." His large blue eyes searched the Elf's gray ones. "I like my Uncle Timm and my aunt is nice, too. But I'm still afraid that Sean is mad at me. He hollered at me when we was at the table."

"Sean isn't angry with you, even though he spoke sharply to you earlier. He is disappointed that his father is not a ranger anymore. And it might take him some time to get over his upset, so I wouldn't push him, if I were you."

"All right; I won't," Andis said, and then his face suddenly brightened. "He will see—it's fun to plow! My Papa used to let me ride Betsie, when we would work."

But Andis sobered again when he asked, "Will you ever come back to see me anymore?"

Elrohir tousled the child's blond head. "Of course I'll come back to see you. Start looking for me a few weeks after Yule."

Jeren came into the stable then and proceeded to Two's stall, which was adjacent to Saedren's. She didn't look at either of them; she simply did the task of saddling and bridling her mare. Andis looked at Elrohir and the Elf returned the child's gaze. It was apparent to both of them that she was sad, and that she wasn't in a talking sort of mood at all.

Elrohir finished saddling Saedren and picked Andis up and placed him up onto the horse's back. He then stood aside, and as he whispered Elvish commands to Saedren, the stallion backed up out of the stall and began heading for the stable door. As he passed Jeren, Elrohir let his hand fall onto her shoulder, giving her a squeeze, but he said nothing; he just followed his horse with Andis on its back as they made their way outside.

Jeren finished quickly and soon was standing with Elrohir, waiting for Elladan to emerge from the main hall, where he had his room. Timm and Jeananne were already outside, and Claire was holding Jessa's hand as the tiny girl bent down to pick up stones. With an amazed look on her little face, she would then show them to the older girl, who admired them effusively. Elen and James had Charlie outside as well, so that they could all bid Jeren and the twins goodbye. And it was probably Elen's hope that Charlie's presence might help Andis in some small way.

Moments later, Elrohir's twin came out to greet the cold, sunny morning. While he wasn't skipping or smiling, Elladan didn't look too much worse for the wear from the clash he'd had with his brother the night before. He greeted no one—in fact Elrohir looked at Jeren, a slow smile stealing onto his face, as if to say, 'Perhaps he cannot talk, as sore as his jaw was last night.' Elladan disappeared inside the barn, and it wasn't too long before he emerged again.

The left side of his face was tinged faintly blue, with a slightly darker purple beneath his eye. He walked straight, not obviously favoring his ribs, but the mounting of his horse would indeed be telling, if they were broken. He dropped the reins he'd been holding, and went directly toward Jessa and Claire. He knelt on one knee before the smallest girl, and she went willingly into his arms. He held her close for several seconds, but it was Jessa who ended the contact, wanting to show him the stones she'd found on the ground. He admired them, and then kissed the little hand that held them.

He then stood and asked Elrohir, "Are you ready?"

Elrohir didn't answer, but he turned toward Andis, who was still atop Saedren. "I am ready, Andis. Are you?"

At the small boy's nod, he reached up and grasped the boy around the waist, but instead of putting him down right away, he held him close, memorizing the smell of him, the feel of his weight in his arms. _How had this happened? How had he grown to love this child so much?_

He reluctantly set the boy down. He wanted to kneel before him, stay on his level, to perhaps hug him again, but he straightened up instead, knowing the child needed for him to be strong. "I am proud of you, Andis. You've met adversity and you have conquered it." He smiled at the puzzled look on the child's face, knowing that Andis hadn't exactly understood every word he'd said. But if he knew Andis, the boy would be asking Timm what 'adversity' and 'conquer' meant. That thought comforted him. "Your uncle will help you learn all you need to know in order to grow into a fine man, and your aunt will nurture and feed you. But do not worry; I will return to see you as often as I can."

As Elrohir stepped back, Jeren knelt down in front of the boy. "I've been honored to care for you Andis, but now you have parents and a brother and two sisters to take over my task. You will grow strong and tall under their care and love. I have no worry about you! You are already strong and will grow stronger still." She stopped to wipe a tear from her face that she couldn't keep from falling, and before she continued, she made sure that her voice was light and soothing. "Worry not; Elrohir and I will come to the settlement as often as we can to see you and Jessa." She stopped for a moment, but then asked, "Could I have a hug goodbye?"

Andis threw himself at her, holding her tightly around the neck. She smiled through her tears and as his hold tightened, she dissolved into laughter, which made him relinquish his hold. "Thank you, Andis, for being my friend. I love you…" He hugged her again, and then released her, standing back as she stood.

Sean came up to Andis then. He didn't say anything, but he put his arm around the younger boy's shoulders, offering comfort as only a brother can. It wasn't long before Charlie joined them: two friends standing with him to help him through a difficult time.

Elen and James collected hugs from Jeren, and then they mounted their horses, although it was noticed that Elladan was rather slow and stiff-looking as he did. They rode through the gates without backward glances, even though there were waves and well wishes trailing after them.

They went slowly through the brush and rocks, with Elrohir in the rear and Jeren at the head. There was a reason, at least from Elrohir's point of view, for this formation. Elladan was not himself, even when taking into account that he'd just left Jessa, and it did not take a genius to see that his ribs were paining him. No, Elrohir had taken up this position so that he could keep a wary eye on his brother; make sure that nothing else happened to him.

Four hours later, after this agonizingly slow start, Elrohir rode ahead, not mentioning his reason for doing so. They'd been going at a rate set by Elladan, which to the other two riders was merely a crawl. They knew, just from their snail-like pace, that he was not well, so they had deliberately gone along without complaint.

Jeren was fidgety about going so slowly, so after Elrohir had ridden off, she decided to while away the time with a little conversation with her brother-in-law.

She dropped back to where Elladan was riding, and after several minutes, she asked, "So just what did you say to Elrohir that prompted him to—" She searched for the words she wanted to use, but settled for saying, "—try to beat your face in?"

She heard Elladan's quiet chuckle, although his smile was more of a grimace due to the pain that laughing caused. He'd suddenly tensed up, so much so that he held a hand to his ribs, but he did finally answer her. "I think it would be best if you asked him."

Exasperated, she said, "I've already asked him."

"He wouldn't tell you?"

"He completely ignored the question," she replied. "Now I'm asking _you_."

"He and I have made a pact to never mention it again," he said. "I plan on living up to my end of that bargain."

She huffed out a sigh. "Well, I guess I will let my imagination run wild and assume you said something about me. I don't know what else you might mention that would cause him to explode to the extent that he obviously did." She eyed him meaningfully, and he raised his brows as if he might be agreeing. The entire time, she'd been keeping her eyes trained on his face, hoping to read any subtle change that something she said might elicit from him. She bit her bottom lip as she thought, and suddenly an idea came to her. But instead of just blurting out another question, she said, "Could be you made reference to the one and only time you and I—" She paused, looking at him intently and wasn't surprised when his eyes quickly darted to hers at her words. She knew she was on the right track then. "Well, it's no matter," she said, as if dismissing the subject.

They rode along in silence for a few minutes, and she could see Elladan gradually relax again. Part of her felt bad for him—he'd only been trying to help Elrohir after all, and he'd been punished for his misdeed—overly so. He probably hadn't meant what he'd said anyway. Yet the larger part of her wouldn't drop the niggling idea that he'd maligned her character somehow, and she couldn't let that lie. He had to be made to understand that _she_ wouldn't tolerate that either. And she wanted this to be laid to rest between the two of them as well.

"You know, Elladan," she finally said, "As identical as the two of you are, being twins and all, I wouldn't have thought that you'd be as different from Elrohir—physically—as it has turned out that you are. Who would have thought that he would be that much better endowed—" She stopped speaking abruptly and looked at him, and he glanced back at her, clearly offended. "Well, you _must_ know. He's your brother, after all…"

"I take exception to that, Jeren." His tone was mild, considering the initial shock her words had had on him. "You should know that I didn't mean what I said to him. There's really no need for your insults."

Jeren thought carefully about what she was going to say next. She couldn't stop feeling just a tinge guilty over what she was doing, but then again, she also couldn't help her desire to set him straight. "Yes, there is need, Elladan. If you thought so little of our time together, that you can make light of it whenever you please, then _I_ find that insulting. I would have hoped that it would have been something that you counted as special, to never be bantered about with anyone—especially not Elrohir."

"The 'incident' to which you're referring wouldn't have happened at all, Jeren, had you not been so insistent," he said, looking her in the eyes. "With your pretense of drunkenness and all your false tears, you finally wore me down."

"Some of my drunkenness was most assuredly pretense, but my tears were anything but false." She kept her eyes on the trail in front of her, because she was finding herself drawn into the memory, remembering her fear that no man would ever love her and also recalling the love she'd had for Elladan at the time. That night had been special to her, and to find that he regarded it as just another toss in the hay was hurtful. But she was too full of pride to let him know just how much his flippancy was costing her. "Drinking loosens my tongue. That is something I am determined to overcome—someday."

"Jeren—"

"—It is fine, Elladan," she said bitingly, cutting him off. "Water under a very old bridge, long forgotten and of no importance to my life at present." She looked him in the eyes then. "It _would_ be well that none of us ever speak of it again."

Elladan wanted to scream at her, tell her that their night together hadn't been an event of little importance to him. He was also remembering it now; how it had made him think more than twice about letting her into his life, perhaps as his lover or maybe even more than that. But when Jeren met Rhyse, Elladan had known what the right answer was. She'd had a chance then to have a relationship with a Man, and he had decided that, in the long run, them going their separate ways would be best for them both.

And now she was bonded to his brother, and he could honestly say that his love for Jeren had gone full circle—he'd loved her as a brother when she was a mere child, and that love had almost blossomed into something deeper, but due to circumstances in both of their lives, his love for her had settled back to that of a brother again. He was completely comfortable about that, and he had rarely allowed his mind to stray to that one night…

But he'd all but quit his philandering ways after his encounter with her. It taught him as nothing else had the danger of playing this game with his heart. And that is how it had been, even before her bonding with Elrohir.

But right now, he was too angry at her for dismissing him; he wouldn't give her the satisfaction of telling her how he felt. _She could just sulk…_

At that moment, Elrohir rode back into view. He stopped beside his wife, but he gave Elladan a wide berth, since the scowl on his brother's face was fierce indeed. He looked quizzically at Jeren and she shrugged her shoulders, so he let it go.

"I have found a likely place to stop for a meal." He looked at Elladan again, and despite his brother's deep frown, he went on, "You know the place. We've stopped there on numerous occasions—where there's an outcropping of rock and a stream nearby, not even a quarter of a league from here."

Elladan gave Jeren one last glare, to which she returned a bored gaze, but then he said, "That would be a good idea. I know exactly where you mean." He nudged his horse with his heels and cantered in the direction from which Elrohir had just ridden.

"What was that all about?" Elrohir asked Jeren as soon as his twin was well out of earshot.

"I only asked Elladan what he'd said that had made you so angry—enough that now he can only ride at a fraction of his usual speed." She couldn't help the whine in her voice; the rate they'd been traveling had worn on her nerves.

Elrohir looked at her warily then. "What did he say?"

"He told me that the two of you had agreed to never mention it again, and that he planned not to."

"Why would that make him angry?" Elrohir asked, very perplexed.

"Why do you not ask him?" she said facetiously. She prodded Two with her feet and took off after Elladan.

Elrohir caught up with them at the place where they'd agreed to have a meal. It was already well past noon, but they'd been traveling so slowly, that Elrohir doubted that his brother would make it home before dark at this rate. Elrohir had had experience with broken or severely bruised ribs before, so he knew that the longer one was in the saddle, the more agonizing the pain became. He knew that Elladan would never let on, so he intended to look out for him, as long as he would allow it; perhaps try to persuade him to stay with them for the night.

Exactly as Elrohir had thought, Elladan was still in the saddle when he'd ridden up, and it was very apparent that he'd been trying to catch his breath from the jostling that his ribs had taken as he endured the cantering of his horse. His face had a slight green hue to it, and he was very slow at dismounting. Elrohir realized then that the fist to the gut that he'd dealt his twin had broken at least one of his ribs. He felt terrible about what he'd done, especially since Elladan had been trying to help him. He knew that if he tried to aid his brother now, Elladan's temper would boil over. He would see it as being coddled, and he'd always hated that, even when there had been good reason—even when it had been their mother who was doing the coddling.

They loosened their horses' girths and tied the reins to the saddle horns, to keep them from getting in the way as the horses grazed. As long as Two was with the Elven horses, she wouldn't stray too far away without being hobbled.

Elen had sent food with them for the trail today, with a few extra provisions for Jeren and Elrohir, so that they wouldn't have to hunt for a day or so when they started scouting. They sat beneath a tree and ate in silence. No one spoke and no one smiled. It seemed as if finally leaving the children had sobered them all.

Elrohir kept stealing furtive glances at his brother, making sure he was eating as he should. Finally Elladan had had enough. "Leave off, Elrohir."

"What are you talking about?" he asked, in what he hoped was not a guilty tone. "I'm sitting here eating, just as you are."

"You know what I mean. Leave off with the concerned looks—I am fine."

"You are _not_ fine, and you know it, Elladan," he replied, not willing to let this slide. "Normally we'd have split up by now and you'd be home already, or nearly so." He stopped for a moment and prepared himself to be yelled at, because he knew his next statement would not be taken well. "We've been traveling for five hours and we didn't get a particularly early start to begin with. And if that isn't enough, the sun is westering; we are already deep in shadow. Jeren and I should have turned south long before this and we have not, because you seem barely awake. I cannot in good conscience leave you to your own devices. I want no argument from you. We are going to—"

"_We_ are going to do nothing, Elrohir!" Elladan said vehemently, and he started to rise, but fell back when he lost his balance. When his rear hit the dirt, his arms immediately encircled his midsection, causing him to fold in on himself. He closed his eyes against the pain.

"Of _course_ you are fine…" Elrohir said sarcastically.

Elladan finally opened his eyes and admitted defeat. "All right, Elrohir; since you refuse to leave me be, I will tell you: I must have hit my head on the floor when I fell last night after you hit me in the face. I am indeed concussed and I have two broken ribs. Are you satisfied? Now can we get on with it?"

"If by getting on with it you mean get on with setting up camp here for the night, then yes, I agree it is time that we get on with it."

"You know that isn't what I mean. Either join me on my ride home, or let's split up as planned and I will get myself back on the trail."

"It's too late to split up, Elladan," Elrohir said in a frustrated tone. "Do you not remember me telling you not five minutes ago that Jeren and I have come much farther toward home than we have a right to be, if we plan on scouting the territory that Glorfindel gave to us?"

Elladan rolled his eyes. "Of course I remember…" But he had the grace to admit, "Well, I remember now that you reminded me." At Elrohir's exasperated expression, Elladan said, "I will travel faster; you have my word. We are not that far from the border of Imladris. I will be across the Bruinen before night has fallen."

"The only thing likely to fall is you—right off your horse. That is one of the dumbest ideas you've had in a very long while."

Jeren was watching this argument, her head wagging back and forth between the brothers as each one got progressively louder than the other. But suddenly she could see that something was wrong. Elladan's eyes squinted as he stopped mid-word, and Jeren thought he might be about to faint or something. So she looked at Elrohir and his eyes were wide, as if he were listening to something that only he could hear.

"What is it?" Jeren asked, and Elrohir's eyes slid to her, while his index finger came up to his lips, telling her to be quiet.

Both he and Elladan gained their feet quickly, and Jeren was surprised at the ease of Elladan's ascent. It was as if he'd forgotten about any pain he might have. But she didn't have time to wonder about it, because Elrohir grabbed one of her arms and pulled her toward where the horses had strayed. Jeren mounted quickly and so did Elladan, considering the pain he was in, which now was registering on his face. As soon as Elladan was in the saddle, Elrohir hopped up behind him, startling both his wife and his twin. Grabbing for the reins, Elrohir dug his heels into Elladan's horse and Jeren did the same thing with Two. She soon heard running feet pursuing them, and the Orcs that were chasing them were shouting dark curses aimed at the Elves.

A black-fletched arrow whizzed past Jeren's ear, and she dropped her head closer to Two's neck. The horse's mane was slapping against her face, but she had no time to even think about that, trying to keep up with the Elven horses.

Elrohir must have realized that he and Elladan were outrunning Jeren, because he'd eased up on Elladan's stallion. But that was a mistake that Jeren hadn't needed for him to make, because she knew if they just kept going, she could break away from them, thus dividing the Orcish horde. She could catch up with them later. Even Two was fast enough to outrun Orcs that were afoot.

But true to form, Elrohir had no faith in her, and he dropped back even further, until he was behind her, covering her from the arrows that the Orcs kept firing. She was amazed that Orcs could run and shoot their bows with any accuracy at all, but she'd been hit by a running Orc's arrow before, so she knew they could take no chances. She wanted to slow down again, to shout at Elrohir, but she knew the folly of that. He would just continue in his bull-headed way of trying to protect her, and then they might all be caught.

So she spurred Two on even faster than before, hoping that they would all come out of this calamity unscathed. She kept riding, even though she desperately wanted to stop and see where Elrohir and Elladan were. But she didn't have to wonder for long, because they soon passed her. She was very relieved as they sped by, but her relief was short-lived—

Elladan had the reins in his hands, and Elrohir was perched behind him. But to her dawning horror, she realized that Elrohir was slumped against his twin holding on for dear life—and he had taken an arrow in the back.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Elladan's horse was traveling at such speed that Jeren had no hope of catching up with them before Two was spent. But for the moment she had to keep up this ground-eating pace, for the Orcs were still behind her, their arrows coming much too close to their mark for her comfort. She chanced a look behind her and was appalled to find that all that was left of their attackers were two Orcs mounted on Wargs, and they were the ones who kept up with their firing. This terrified her, because she didn't know if Two had the stamina left to outrun these wolf-like fiends.

But she urged her mare onward with frantic words, begging Two to use all that she had to try and get them away. If they were caught, not only would Jeren be at the Orcs' mercy, but she also knew that her mare would become their victim, too. She only hoped that the Orcs wouldn't get the bright idea to shoot Two from beneath her. She desperately didn't want that fate for her constant companion when she was out in the Wild. She'd already had to sacrifice one horse in her life to the beasts; she had no intention of sacrificing another.

She tried not to think about the twins and how neither of them were hale now. Both were injured and if Elladan were smart, he'd make for the border of Rivendell, cross the river and be safe. He would be aided by the Elves on patrol; Elrohir would be fine.

She kept repeating that phrase, in time with the beat of her horse's hooves upon the hard-packed ground.

_Elrohir will be fine…_

But she also knew that Elladan was not at his best. He was concussed—he'd admitted it to them while they were resting. She hoped that the instinct to save his brother would be enough to get them both to the border and out of harm's way.

She could see the river now. It was not even a full league in the distance. If only Two could make it—if only she did not founder before they were safe.

An arrow whistled and she heard it hit somewhere close. She was afraid to look and see where it had landed, but she felt no pain, nor did the horse's gait falter. She had no way of knowing that it was the Orcs' final arrow, and they'd aimed it to count, but they'd been too far away and the Wargs were now as tired as Two was.

She made a quick decision, to break from this path, one that those who knew of the valley's existence generally used to go to Rivendell, and veer off into the rocks and brush. Mayhap she could confuse the Wargs that were following her, to get them away from her trail. They were very close to Imladris now, so this territory would not be familiar to the Orcs—she hoped.

Once headed in this direction, she could find Breakneck Pass, a trail so named because it was a quicker route to Rivendell, if one were needing to get there at a breakneck speed, but if one insisted on going this way, one could also break one's neck. This was the trail on which Elrohir once took her, when he was trying to get her to Rivendell before her father succumbed to a poisoned wound he'd been dealt by an Orc. She didn't know if Elladan would have had the presence of mind to come this way, but even if he did not, the Elves that guarded the border would have met him at the usual crossing, and both he and Elrohir could be gotten to Elrond quickly. She would look for signs of them along this trail, and if they did not turn up at the house before she did, this would be one less place that would have to be searched. But regardless of everything else, she would get there more quickly by going this way, and if luck was with them all, she would learn sooner exactly how badly Elrohir was hurt. For now she was content that she could feel her bond with him, strong and steady. She couldn't take the time—nor did she have the desire—to decipher what he was feeling. She was better off not knowing that at the present.

She found the trail she was seeking and began a steep climb up the rocks. The path wound around boulders and great piles of stone, going up, before it then went sharply down. She could no longer hear the Wargs in pursuit; in fact had not heard them for the last several minutes. She was fairly sure she'd lost them, but would not let her vigilance down, nor lessen her frantic progress toward Imladris, just in case they were still following her.

She was torn. She wanted to go to home straight away, but she needed to slow down even more so that she could look for the twins in likely places they may be holed up. She thought she remembered the location of the cave where she and Elrohir stayed the night they had come this way. She might have passed it by now, but she wasn't sure, so she slowed Two down in order that she not accidentally miss it. Of course there were probably dozens of caves and caverns around here, and with it getting on to dark, she mustn't be reckless in approaching any one of them; she didn't fancy being met by Orcs on their way out for the night. She hoped against hope that Elladan had been able to continue on and had made it across the river by now.

She almost passed the cavern she sought, but she suddenly spied a familiar landmark just before she went past it. She started to get out of the saddle, but found that her left foot wouldn't budge. As she looked at it, wondering what on earth was wrong, she was surprised to see a black-feathered arrow stuck between the stirrup and her boot, making it impossible for her to get her foot loose. She reached down and yanked it free, then she dismounted and broke the arrow in half and put the pieces into her saddlebag. She loosened her sword in its sheath, readying herself for any eventuality, just in case it wasn't the twins that she found in the cave, but Orcs instead.

She crept to the entrance, keeping herself hidden just outside the opening, her back flat against the rocks. She listened intently, but heard nothing. She quickly darted a glance inside, but could see nothing. She stealthily stole into the interior of the cave, and as she went deeper into the rock, she let her guard down completely. There was no light in it for anyone to see by. There was nothing in this cavern—neither Orcs nor the Elves that she sought.

She went back outside, again being careful of her surroundings. She had no idea whether the Orcs that had been chasing them might still be tracking her, so she was doubly careful as she found Two and mounted again. She got back on the trail, keeping her eyes and ears trained to hear or see anything out of the ordinary. She hadn't gone far when, in the deepening dusk, she spied what looked to be a horse's rump extending out of the bushes a few steps ahead.

She dismounted again and walked to where the horse stood, pulling Two along behind her. As soon as she drew close enough, she recognized the horse—it was Saedren! Even though Elrohir had not been riding him, Jeren knew that he would have instinctively found his master. Elrohir had to be somewhere very nearby. She reached out and touched Saedren's neck, and when she did, he began moving further into the brush and trees. It was as if he'd been waiting for her.

Pulling Two along with her, she followed the stallion deeper into the woods. It grew darker still under the canopy of the trees. She hadn't gone far when she saw the twins—they were lying side by side in the grass beneath the trees, Elladan face up and leaning against a large rock, and Elrohir face down as if asleep. She dropped Two's reins and ran to Elrohir. He was quiet and his eyes were closed. She checked for a pulse as she tried to discern their bond...

"Jeren," Elladan said, gasping for breath "You have to—to hurry…"

As soon as she was satisfied that Elrohir's pulse was strong, but very rapid, and their bond was intact, merely quiet as he slept, she peered closely at the arrow sticking out of his back. It was lodged in the fleshy part just below his shoulder blade, right next to his arm. She sat back on her heels, trying to decide whether it would be best to cut the arrow off close to his skin or remove it altogether.

Elladan grabbed one of her hands. "Listen!" he said, then stopped, taking several short gulps of air. "Poison… Take—him—home."

Not hearing what he'd said, she turned her full attention to Elladan then, because it was obvious he was in much more distress than Elrohir was at the moment. She began to check him for any apparent sign of a wound, but could find nothing. He grabbed at her sleeve, pulling her closer.

"Listen—to—me…" he said, panting now with the struggle it was for him to speak and breathe at the same time.

"Elladan, what happened to you? Why are you—"

"—We… fell from… Dûrion's back... On Breakneck…"

"You _both_ fell from your horse?" she asked, trying to decipher his broken speech.

He nodded his head and a tear of relief that she'd understood him escaped from one of his eyes. He didn't bother to wipe it away, because he was still trying to urgently get his message to her. "Elrohir… blacked out. Pulled me… we both fell… off... My ribs… In the fall… one must have… punctured… lung…"

"Valar, Elladan!" she said, rising and calling Two to her. "We've got to get you home to Father! Where is Dûrion—"

"_No_!" He said as vehemently as he could. "Not me… Elrohir…"

"He's asleep," she said. "I will come back for him. Even I can tell that the arrow isn't in a vital place. He will be fine."

"No!" Elladan said again. Tears of pain and frustration were now coursing from his eyes. "No," he said more quietly. "Elrohir… Home. To. Father."

Jeren shook her head, squatting down again. It was easier to hear him if she were closer. He was really having a difficult time speaking. "Elladan, you can barely breathe. Tell me the sense of what you are saying. He is fine; it is you who is having the crisis."

"No!" he said again with force. "Just talking… is hard… Because I am... speaking… makes it worse…" He shook his head, the frustration getting the best of him. "Do. What. I—say!"

She was startled when Elrohir spoke, his slurred words a little hard to understand. "No, Jeren…" She bent over him, listening intently. "You are right… I will keep. It is him who needs Father. Take him home…" Elrohir seemed to drop off to sleep again then, so she looked back at Elladan.

"If… If… You never—listen—to me again," Elladan panted, "listen now. Take. Him. Home. Poison… The arrow—poison…"

Jeren's heart seemed to fall from her chest and land in the vicinity of her feet. Elrohir—had been shot with a poison arrow?

"But Elrohir just said—" she started, "It is you who is in all the distress."

"Please… don't make me… say… it… again..." Elladan pleaded, and it was the plaintive note in his words that finally got to her.

"Call Dûrion," she said, "and we will all go."

"I can—not," Elladan said. "Hurts too bad… And I had to…" He shook his head sadly as more tears fell from his eyes. "He broke... his leg…"

She was trying to puzzle this out. She'd seen no sign of a dead horse, as she'd come up this trail. Unless… They'd fallen further down the slope and the horse was beyond her sight. Elladan's face was so bereft Jeren wanted to weep with him.

"Go! There. Is. No. Time," he said again. "Elrohir… Poison…"

Elrohir roused himself again, although he was even harder to understand now than he had been before, slurring his words. "Don' lissen t' him… _He_ needs Fath-er. Can you not hear… the way he is wheezin'?"

Jeren wanted to sit down and weep with frustration herself. Who was she to believe? She knew each of the twins would gladly sacrifice himself for his brother. Who was in the most dire need? As she took the time to think this through, she didn't believe either of them could sit a horse by himself, so even if Dûrion had lived, Elladan wouldn't be able to stay on his back. And Elladan had to be in excruciating pain besides not being able to breathe. Could she trust his thinking? He'd been lucid before, except for a little forgetfulness. And he'd endured yet another fall, one that must have been extensive.

But what if what he was saying was true, and Elrohir was in mortal and imminent danger?

_What was she going to do?_

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	41. Chapter 41

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle-earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

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Jeren stood as she came to a decision.

"All right, Elladan," she said. "Valar help you if you are being self-sacrificing—"

Relief washed over his features, and it seemed as if his breathing was a touch less labored, as what she said had a chance to reach him. "Thank—Ilúvatar," he said almost under his breath, closing his eyes as if he could finally rest. But then he looked at her again. "I swear… I. am. not… self… sacrifice… ing…"

Jeren turned to Elrohir then, squatting down again and pulling the dagger out of her boot at the same time. "I don't suppose it would do any good take the time to wash this knife properly," she said, talking to herself out of sheer nervousness.

She gasped when she took a good look at the arrow in the growing darkness. It had been driven so deep! She knew it hadn't been this way when she'd first seen it, as the twins had ridden past her in their flight from the Orcs. She shook her head as she swallowed the bile that had risen into her throat, when she realized that Elrohir's fall from Dûrion, and his consequent descent to lower ground, had driven the arrow deeper into his back.

Regaining some semblance of control, she grasped the arrow shaft, and, placing the blade against it, she put all the force she could muster on it to break it. Orc's arrows were thick-shafted and made of the hardest wood the Orcs could find, and Jeren cursed being a woman right now for that very reason. Elrohir groaned with the pain, and she knew that had Elladan or Aragorn been trying to do this task, it would have been easier on Elrohir because they were stronger than she was. Anger gave her a boost of strength, and the shaft snapped off at the edge of her knife.

She tore at Elrohir's shirt until she had completely rid him of it, and then she took the strips of cloth and tied them together to make a bandage. She wound the cloth around his torso to cover the wound, which wasn't easy, considering that he was giving her very little help in the state he was in.

She looked back at Elladan as she prepared to rouse Elrohir—if he could be roused—so that he could help her as she tried to get him on top of his horse. "I will leave Two here, tethered where Saedren was standing, to alert searchers as to your location." She looked at him long and hard. "Woe be to me if I'm making the wrong decision, Elladan. Your father will have my head on a platter, if it turns out that it should have been you that I'm taking to Imladris."

He grasped her ankle in reply, since that was the only part of her he could easily reach. "You are… mak-ing… the correct… choice…" He swallowed and caught his breath again. "Go, Jeren. Hurry…"

She hated doing it, but she shook Elrohir savagely, trying to rouse him enough so that he could aid her by walking to Saedren. She was thankful that he was an Elf, and as such, weighed less than a man did, and although the difference in weight between a man and an Elf was marked, she still had a very difficult time keeping him upright. At last she had accomplished helping Elrohir climb atop Saedren. It had been painfully slow, every movement seeming to cost that much more of Elrohir's energy. He was practically unconscious on his feet, but she could feel his determination through their bond. And she could also feel his fear—through the haze he was in, he'd finally realized he'd been poisoned.

She hopped up behind him, thankful that, between the two of them, Elladan and Elrohir had been able to rid the stallion of his saddle at some point, probably when they'd needed to get out of the ravine they must've fallen into. She pulled Two by the reins and tied the straps to a tree so that the mare would be easily seen when searchers came looking for Elladan. She fervently hoped that no Orcs found her first.

It was almost fully dark now, but she kicked the Elven horse into an immediate canter. She would have had him up to a full gallop, had the dusk not given way to nightfall, and had the ground been flatter and not so strewn with rocks and brush. She came perilously close to losing her grip on Elrohir more times than she ever would have imagined. She cursed herself for not taking the time to tie him on. This ride would have been so much easier had she thought to do it that way. As it was, he was slumped over the horse, his face resting on the right side of the stallion's withers. It scared her that he was so relaxed—seemingly boneless—as she drove Saedren mercilessly toward their goal, with one arm around Elrohir's middle as they rode.

It seemed like forever, but was in reality only about half an hour, when she reached the banks of the Bruinen. This was not the usual fording place, where most people crossed when going to Imladris. It was deeper and the current stronger here in this location. She allowed Saedren his head as the horse swam, cursing herself again for not taking the time to tie Elrohir to the horse before she'd started this trip. She was having to wrestle with the river's current to keep him in her possession. Thankfully, they made it to the opposite shore fairly quickly. As Saedren emerged dripping out of the Bruinen, they were almost immediately surrounded by border guards. As if by magic, several torches flared to light as they drew near.

"State your name and your business!" said the officer in charge. His name was Bandorion, an Elf she knew—and didn't care for. He was a veteran of the Imladris force, and when she had been in training, he'd been one of the instructors who schooled the novices in wilderness survival. He had never made his disdain for Humans a secret—it was a well-known fact about him—and it hadn't taken Jeren long to figure out that he also disliked females who would deign to do what he must have considered the work of males. She had taken his slights and insults at the time, knowing he outranked her, and tonight she was desperate to get Elrohir to Elrond, so that the Elf lord could see to him. Because of her urgency, she didn't exactly answer his command.

"Elrohir's hurt! We must get him to his father. He's been shot by a poison arrow!"

The Elves had dismounted, and Bandorion stepped forward, peering closely at the Elf that was slumped so far onto the stallion's neck that his arms hung limply on either side of the horse's withers. He motioned to one of the Elves in his charge to come forward, and then he said something to him in Elvish. Jeren was relieved to see that it was Feredir—an Elf she'd dealt with before at the border—and it was becoming apparent to her that he would be her escort into Rivendell.

Then the commander turned his stony countenance back to her. "Where is his brother?" he asked her, somewhat less harshly.

"He's on the other side of the river, and he's badly hurt. I can tell you exactly where, so that some of the guard can go fetch him home."

"Dismount, _Girl_," he ordered.

Bandorion's instructions had been commanded in a tone that would make one think he was the Arms Master himself. And he called her _Girl—_as Glorfindel had before. She'd always known deep in her heart that Glorfindel's use of the name had been to try and reinforce the steel in her spine, but Bandorion only meant it as an insult and had said it as disdainfully as he could make it sound. She was somewhat intimidated by him still, she was appalled to note. He was taller than most and of heavier build, and his hair was the color of burnished gold—he looked much as the Arms Master did. For all Jeren knew they were the closest of kin, though no one had ever told her such.

But for all of Glorfindel's sternness, he never appeared as unforgiving and punitive as this Elf before her now. She instinctively did as she was told, but as soon as her feet touched the ground, she lifted a hand up to Elrohir, to keep him steady on Saedren. _This was all taking too long._

Before she knew what was happening, Feredir leapt up onto Saedren, and the stallion's eyes rolled and his ears went back as he pranced in place, clearly unhappy with the change in riders. Feredir whispered calming words to him, and the horse settled somewhat. She suddenly realized that Feredir had been ordered to take Elrohir himself, and she had the uneasy feeling that she was being excluded from those riding to the house. She grabbed onto Saedren's reins and refused let go.

"I'm not staying here!" she shouted at Bandorion. "I'm going, too! I am his wife!"

"I do not care if you are his _Naneth_," he replied brusquely. "You will be leading the searchers to where Elladan is hidden. You _did_ hide him, did you not?"

"Yes," she said, but on further consideration, she admitted, "well, no; he'd hidden himself. But he left Saedren on the trail so that the horse could lead me to him. I've left my mare tied in that exact spot. It cannot be missed."

"Then you will not miss it," Bandorion said as a slow smile crept across his lips.

"I refuse to do this!" she shouted. She turned her attention back to the Elf on the horse, whose reins she now had a death grip on. "Get down off of Saedren, Feredir!"

Feredir looked to his commander, and one of Bandorion's brows lifted ever so slightly, as if he dared the younger Elf to go against his orders.

"We have no time to be bandying words!" she said loudly, directly to Bandorion. "Both of the twins are hurt. If one of them dies…" Her tone left no doubt as to the threat of her words: If anything happened to Elrohir or Elladan, she was holding Bandorion responsible, and she would see to it that Lord Elrond did as well.

"Then you'd best get mounted on Feredir's horse and begin your assignment, _Girl_," he sneered. He slapped Saedren on the rump, causing the horse to start and almost unseat his new rider as well as the Elf who lay draped over his neck. The reins burned like a brand as they were quickly and forcefully yanked through Jeren's fingers. The stallion charged down the trail toward The Last Homely House, and Jeren could do nothing but watch him go.

She was so angry she wanted to spit, but instead she stomped over to Feredir's horse. "I am going to the house," she announced through clenched teeth.

"I have ordered you to lead the search," he replied.

"You cannot order me!" she said in return. "I am a scout; not of the guard."

"You are of the Imladris Force, _Girl, _and as your senior on this force by _centuries_, I am commanding you now." His voice was low and steely, and the intense glare he set on her made her skin crawl. "Get your backside into that saddle and show Faeron and Andaer the way to Elladan! If either of Lord Elrond's sons dies as a result of your lassitude, it will be on _your_ head." He backed away from her slightly, and when she still did not move, he shouted, "Go!" He'd punctuated his authority by pointing a finger back out toward the Wild.

Seething, Jeren mounted Feredir's horse. She paused when she had her seat, trying to decide the matter to her satisfaction. Ever the soldier, following orders seemed to come naturally to her, and her desire to do what she wanted fell away in the face of a superior officer's command. She spurred the gelding with her heels, sending him back toward the river.

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After they'd crossed the Bruinen, it didn't take long before the Elves she was with sped up, causing her to urge the horse she was riding to go faster. She thought that they must have either spied Two where she was tied up near the path ahead of them, or they had heard or sensed that one of their own was near. Faeron said something to Andaer in Elvish, then he turned toward Jeren.

"We see the horse tied ahead, on the left."

"Yes, that's my mare."

She was surprised when they didn't leave her to choke on their dust, trying to get to the Lord of Imladris' son more quickly, but they did not, and a few minutes later, they were all dismounting. She gave Two a pat as she passed her, going into the brush where she knew Elladan was hidden, with the two Elvish guards following behind her. She hurried to him, and when she was at his side, she crouched down beside him.

Elladan's breathing had already eased noticeably, even though it had only been a little over an hour since she'd left him. But had it not been so dark and the lighting so poor, they would have seen the bluish hue around his lips and they would have been alarmed.

Upon seeing her, he frowned. "Why are you… back? I expected that you… would go with Elrohir. Tell Father… exactly what happened."

"I _should_ have gone with him!" she said angrily. She uncorked her water skin and offered it to him. He took it and drank greedily. "Bandorion was with a host of the guard at the border, and he _ordered _me to lead the search for you, even though I could have given clear directions as to your location."

He looked at her askance, as if he couldn't follow her logic. "Why did you not… defy him… and go anyway?"

She didn't answer him; she just put the stopper back into the neck of her water skin.

Looking confused, he asked the Elves in the group, his tone a doubting one, "_Bandorion_? What is he doing… commanding… a large number… at the border?" He stopped, his breath coming rapidly with the exertion of trying to talk and breathe at the same time.

"There has been some very suspicious activity just beyond the border of late," Faeron told Elladan. "Your father has ordered that more numbers be added to the guard and that our vigilance be increased."

Unable to really piece this puzzle together, Elladan said nothing; he just laid his head back against the rock he was leaning on and closed his eyes.

Jeren hated to rush him, but she was desperate not only to get him home so that his father could heal him, but to find out how Elrohir fared. She wondered at these Elven guards, and why they were not taking matters into their own hands, as Elves of the force generally did when dealing with her. But just as that thought went through her mind, she realized that she was the one in charge! Bandorion had clearly stated—more than once—that she was to lead the search, and these Elves seemed to respect her enough to let her do the leading.

So she decided to do it. "Do you think you are able to travel yet, Elladan?" she asked him.

"Yes," he said, as he braced himself to move.

Jeren stood by, wanting to help him in any way that she could, but she didn't know exactly what or how much to do. Sometimes when someone was in pain, good intentions actually made things worse.

Elladan took the situation into his own hands then. He looked at Faeron and Andaer somewhat sheepishly. "As much… as it pains me… to ask for it… I will need your aid."

Faeron nodded and handed Jeren the torch he'd been holding. He went to one knee and held out his hands, waiting for Elladan to make the first move. Elladan extended his arms and said, "If one of you… can grab me—gently—around… the middle… as I stand, I think… I won't black out… from the pain."

"What exactly is wrong?" Andaer asked. "I am assuming broken ribs."

"You assume… correctly," Elladan replied. "But add… punctured lung to that… and you will have… the situation well defined." He'd ended the sentence in a rush, because he simply did not have enough air yet to talk normally.

They helped him up, and with one of his arms draped around each of the Elves' shoulders, they walked to where they'd left the horses beside the path.

"I will not even ask if you can sit a horse alone," Faeron told Elladan. Andaer mounted and between Jeren and Faeron, they were able to lift Elladan up to Andaer, placing him in front of the Elven guard. Even as careful as they had been, the pain had been too great—and Elladan had passed out cold.

Faeron took the torch from Jeren and extinguished it, then placed it in what was usually used as a sheath for a sword on the saddle. The moon was up a little way into the sky, so the Elves had no trouble seeing at all, and Jeren was able to make out the trail somewhat, as soon as her eyes adjusted to the darkness.

They rode slowly toward the river—much more slowly than Jeren had, when she'd brought Elrohir this way earlier—and after more than an hour they were across the Bruinen and headed down into the valley of Rivendell. Andaer had leaned Elladan's head back to rest on his shoulder, keeping one hand on Elladan's forehead and the other around his midsection, hoping to hold him still enough that the riding would do no more damage to him. Since Elladan remained blissfully unaware and unconscious, he didn't fight Andaer at all. The Elves slowed their horses even more, to keep from jostling Elladan as much as possible, as they rode up the cobbled path leading to the stables and the back of the house. But Jeren spurred Two to go faster, and as soon as she was near the back entrance, she fairly flew from the saddle, running up the steps and throwing the door open.

She continued to run as she traversed the corridors of The Last Homely House until she came to the double doors of the Healing Halls. She stopped there momentarily, checking her bond with her husband, hoping all was well with him now that he was being cared for by Elrond.

But she was horrified to find that their bond barely hummed at all. It could be that he was merely deeply asleep, but Jeren could not help but think the worst. _What if Elrohir was near death?_

She charged through the doors, looking around frantically for Elrohir. All she could see were empty beds or those occupied by Elves that were not him. She couldn't find him anywhere. Just as she was about to lose her control over the panic she felt, Mariel bustled toward her.

"Now Jeren—" Mariel started, placing her hands on the woman's arms.

"—Where is he?" Jeren demanded, interrupting the aide. "Where is Elrohir?" Before she even gave Mariel a chance to speak, Jeren added, some relief stealing into her tone, "He's in the surgery, isn't he? Lord Elrond is still removing the arrowhead from Elrohir's back."

Mariel strengthened her grip on Jeren's upper arms. "No, he's not in the surgery. The actual extraction did not take very long. He is in one of the private rooms just off this hall," she said quietly, as she pointed toward the door with her chin.

Jeren's heart felt as if it were falling from a great height as she realized Mariel was speaking of the rooms where only the most critically ill of Elrond's patients were ever taken. She started to turn toward the doorway so that she could find Elrohir. She needed to be with her husband.

But Mariel held her firmly. "Lord Elrond needs peace in which to do his work. There can be no histrionics or any carrying on—"

"—you have my word, Mariel," Jeren assured her quickly.

Mariel looked into her eyes. "I will not lie to you, Jeren; he's very ill. And I cannot stress enough that the Lord must have complete quiet and peace to perform his healing."

Jeren looked down, trying to muffle a sob, but then she raised her drowning eyes again, giving Mariel a silent plea as she tried to keep herself from weeping hysterically. "I promise, Mariel. I just need to be with him. Please…" Her eyes begged the Elleth as her words could not.

Mariel read the desperation in Jeren's expression and she relinquished her hold. "It's just outside in the corridor; the first door to the right…"

Jeren strode quickly toward the door that Mariel had indicated. The hall was very dark, but she found the entry she was seeking. Before she turned the knob, she placed her hands flat on the wood, then rested her forehead against it. Tears coursed down her face and she didn't even bother to wipe them away. She knew she had to hold it together—Elrohir's life depended on her doing so. With renewed resolve—and trying desperately to squelch her weeping—she ran her sleeve over her eyes and opened the door.

Elrohir was in the bed, still as death, his pale skin nearly translucent in the muted light, which shone from half a dozen lamps suspended from the ceiling throughout the room. The light had been softened by lampshades of green and yellow glass that were suspended above each lamp. The shades were cut in many small, leaf-shaped pieces, layered on top of each other, draping over the flame like the leaves on a sunlit tree. While the light was enough to see by, the effect was of being in a sheltered glade, where the sunlight filtered down through the branches. It was a very peaceful setting, but Jeren could tell there was a war that was being fought by the Elf Lord, as he sat perched on the bed beside his son, his eyes closed, and one of his hands over Elrohir's heart.

Jeren said nothing as she made her way to the bed and sat in the chair beside it. She leaned her elbows gently on the mattress—not hard enough that Elrond could even feel it—although she knew that he sensed she was there. She took up Elrohir's hand in both of hers and kissed the back of it, then lay it down on the bed again. She crossed her arms over his hand and laid her forehead atop them.

She said fervent prayers to whatever deity might listen and do something about her husband's plight. Ilúvatar? The Valar? She didn't know which. Her schooling had been slight, learning the basics from her mother, so that she could read and write and cipher a little. But as far as anything spiritual, she knew some of the names, but couldn't really tell you exactly who or what they were.

She must have dozed, because the next thing she knew, she felt a hand on her shoulder. She started and Elrohir's name escaped from her lips, as if she were calling to him, wondering where he could have gone. She quickly glanced up to look at his face, and in the process realized that Elrond was no longer sitting on the bed, but was standing beside her.

"Come with me, Jeren," Elrond said, holding her elbow, ready to help her up.

"I don't want to leave," she said, but then she frowned, looking back at Elrohir. "He's not—" she couldn't put words to what had entered her mind.

"No," Elrond said, but he wasn't very reassuring. His face was ashen and his eyes looked old. "Come with me, Jeren," he repeated.

"But…" She searched his eyes hoping to find a really good reason why she should leave her husband now.

"I need to speak with you," he said quietly. "He's in no immediate danger at the moment. But we don't have long before I will need to return."

Jeren knew without asking that Elrond had given Elrohir much of his own energy. She knew how it worked—whatever Elrond did to heal someone, above and beyond the mechanics of closing wounds and dispensing healing herbs, used his own energy. She'd had many mind healing sessions with him, and after each one he looked somewhat as he did now. Only now he looked ten times worse. And she somehow knew that this tired Elf lord beside her was all that was standing between Elrohir and the Halls of Mandos.

She rose and stretched the kinks out of her neck, as well as tried to shake some life back into her arms, which had fallen asleep after the rest of her had. It was then that she noticed that Mariel was sitting in another chair on the opposite side of the bed. She gave Jeren a hopeful smile, which Jeren returned, glad that Elrohir would not be alone while she was gone. She then followed the Elf lord out of the room. He led her into the main Healing Hall and soon they were both standing beside Elladan's bed. He looked much better than he had earlier this evening. Jeren glanced outside through the glass near the veranda door and noticed it was deeply dark. But she had no idea if it was still before midnight or in the wee hours of the morning or just prior to dawn.

Elrond ushered Jeren to a chair beside the bed Elladan was occupying, and then he sat on the mattress beside his son. Jeren wondered at her presence here, since it seemed as if Elrond was simply going to look to Elladan's healing. She didn't know how long she'd been sleeping, so she couldn't have told whether or not Elrond had left Elrohir's room to take care of Elladan at some point, or if Mariel had seen to him in Elrond's stead.

Without preamble, Elrond pulled the sheet away from Elladan's torso and down to his waist, revealing a bandage that had been bound around his chest, to try and stabilize his broken ribs. He placed his hand onto the cloth and closed his eyes.

Elladan grabbed at his hand and practically flung it away. "No," he said, "save your healing strength… for the one… who truly needs it."

"You say this as you gasp for breath, son. Are your ribs not broken? Do they not need to mend? Has your lung not been pierced?"

"I know what you say… is true," Elladan replied breathlessly. "But I fear for my brother. He needs… you worse than I do… and it's apparent to anyone… who sees you… that you don't have…" Elladan had to stop and take several breaths before he went on, "that much more to give— to either of us."

"I fear for him, also," Elrond replied tiredly. He placed his hands in his lap and seemed preoccupied by them, looking at first as if he were studying exactly how hands might work. But as the seconds ticked by, Jeren and Elladan both could see by his expression that the Elf lord was at odds with himself, as if he wanted to say something, but knew that he shouldn't. And they could also see when Elrond made his decision to speak.

"Why did you not remove the arrowhead from your brother's back?" he asked, his voice edgy with anger and fear for the son that lay near death in another room. "It gave the poison untold time to get into your brother's system. You know better than to allow that, Elladan. What could you have possibly been thinking? I was told that he was shot _before_ you both took a tumble off Dûrion—you could have stopped well before then to remove it."

Jeren knew then that Elrond had not left Elrohir's bedside, not even to see to his other son's healing, because, while he knew the facts of their ordeal with the Orcs, he didn't know about Elladan's injuries—and how he'd suffered most of them prior to the Orc attack. She thought that Mariel must have detected the injuries, but hadn't asked Elladan for any explanation, nor had he offered one. It made her wonder how Elrond had drawn his conclusions. She'd been in the chase herself, and even though the twins sped by her, she didn't think that Elladan would have had the time to remove the arrow from his brother's back.

Elladan said nothing, but it was obvious that he was clearly stricken by his father's accusations, and after several moments of silence, it looked as though he felt that his father was right in his censure.

Jeren couldn't abide this. It simply wasn't fair.

"It wasn't his fault," she said, breaking the spell that had held the father's eyes riveted to the son's. Their baleful gazes turning toward her almost stole the words that she'd wanted to speak, but she knew she had to say them. "He's concussed; did no one tell you that?"

Elrond looked at Elladan, and one of his hands captured his son's chin to bring his gaze around to his own. He looked deeply into Elladan's eyes, and it was apparent when he saw in them the fact that Jeren was speaking the truth. "Even if this happened in the fall, that still doesn't excuse you from the lack of attention you showed to your brother."

"No, Father," Jeren said, interrupting Elrond's criticism of his son again. "It happened last night, before we set out from the settlement this morning."

"Jeren—" Elladan said through clenched teeth, warning her without further words that he wished she'd quit speaking.

"Elladan, I cannot allow him to think that you carelessly neglected Elrohir when he needed you." She looked at Elrond then, and said, "For one thing, I was there, and I doubt that he had the time to find a place to hide, stop, and then take that arrow out. Orcs on Wargs were chasing us, Father." She stopped for emphasis, to let what she was saying sink in. "For another, he was in severe pain from ribs that were already broken, and as you now know, he was already concussed. And he simply didn't think about removing the arrowhead, because he was not thinking clearly." She looked back at Elladan then. "I do not blame you for Elrohir's condition—and I love Elrohir just as much if not more than anyone else in this room." She'd looked meaningfully at Elrond, in hopes of driving home her point.

It had grown uncomfortably quiet after Jeren's pronouncement, but she could still read guilt in Elladan's expression. Elrond ran his hands over his face, as if he were trying to rub some of his fatigue—and subsequent irritability—away.

"I am sorry Elladan," he admitted when he spoke. "It is I who am not thinking clearly now." He looked at his son with deep regret, asking forgiveness with his eyes. "I suppose I am just trying to find someone to blame, and there truly is no one. I was taking my sorrow out on you."

Elladan didn't say anything at first, he just put his hand over Elrond's, where it was again resting atop the bandage, in the place where the broken ribs lay beneath it. "You are acting… as if there is no hope… for him. Can you not heal him… Father?" The fear in Elladan's tone was a contagious thing, causing Jeren to sit up straighter in her chair. _Perhaps this was why Elrond wanted her here: To tell her there was no chance that Elrohir would survive._

"I have _not_ given up hope, son," Elrond replied, in what he probably wished was a reassuring tone, but was not. "I will continue to fight for him as long as I draw breath. It is just that this poison is acting peculiarly. I fear it isn't one poison, but two or more."

He got up from his place on the bed and walked slowly across the room as if he were deep in thought. "His systems _were_ depressed before; so much so that I had to restart his heart—twice."

Jeren gasped and Elladan reached for her hand, trying to give her some comfort. She accepted his offered hand and held his fingers in her own.

"You've never… done _that_ before," Elladan said. But then he added uncertainly, "You haven't… have you? I didn't know… that you could."

Elrond gave him a weak smile. "I didn't know that I could, either." He chuckled slightly. "I could think of nothing else to do, so I simply decided to reverse the process I use to put people into a deep healing sleep, and I tried to force wakefulness upon him." His brows drew together in a perplexed frown. "It worked, and I've never been so grateful for anything in my entire life."

Everyone was silent again, until Jeren said, "You told us that the poison is acting strangely, as if there are two. What makes you say that, Father?"

Elrond came back and sat on the bed again, his exhaustion getting the better of him. "About an hour before I woke you, Elrohir's heart rate came up to a normal pace. That gave me hope that the worst was over, yet as the hour wore on, his heart rate continued to rise. Just before we came in here, it was about as fast as it should be if he were taking a walk, not lying in a bed sleeping.

"I suspect the Orcs who attacked you were practiced in the art of 'dipping' their arrows."

Elladan swore under his breath at the news his father had imparted. "If only I had thought… to stop… and remove the arrow!" The anguish on his face hurt all who were there to see it.

"No, son," Elrond said quietly, placing a hand on Elladan's face. "As Jeren has said—she was there. I was not. She says you did not have the time, even had you thought to do it. I trust her judgment; do you not?"

"Of course I do… but I could have… done it… _after… _we were safe." Elladan's voice was breaking now, not just because the pain of breathing was so great and his breath was still coming in gasps, but because of the sorrow he felt in this realization.

"Stop it!" Elrond said as gently as he could. "I made a leap to a hasty conclusion before—I was wrong to accuse you. You had been grievously hurt and more than likely unable to perform the task anyway. I was wrong to try and blame you earlier, and you are wrong to blame yourself now. It does no good for anyone, least of all Elrohir. He would not wish this. I'm sorry for my churlish words of earlier, and it makes me even more ashamed to see you taking on this guilt now, because of what I have said."

Jeren needed to get back to the subject that they had detoured from. "Dipping?" she asked. "I have an idea of what that means, but could you tell me exactly?"

"Dipping***** is a process used to poison arrows," Elrond said. "I know of no Elves who have ever used the practice, but some races of Men have been known to employ it—Wildlings; Dunlendings; most assuredly the Corsairs. And Orcs have done it from the moment they began battling us all…" His face looked disgusted at thinking about the vile creatures that waged constant war on Middle-earth. He sighed with weariness, and then he continued with his explanation. "The arrow is dipped into a poison and left there for hours, and the poison coats the arrowhead of course, but also penetrates deep into the wooden shaft. It is then allowed to dry. It is sometimes then dipped for a second time, either in the same poison for added assurance of death of the victim, or in another poison altogether, also hoping to ensure death, but succeeding in confusing any healer as to what course to take in treatment and causing delay that could cost a life. They use these arrows particularly when they are fighting Elves. They know that we heal at an accelerated rate, so they double their chances at killing one of us. That is why we always extract Orcs' arrows as soon as can be arranged. We never know if they might have 'dipped' their arrows or not. In most cases, and especially in Humans, the first poison kills the victim—and very rapidly. But if it does not, then the second dose positively does, if the arrowhead remains embedded long enough."

Jeren abruptly stood. "Then mayhap we should get back to Elrohir so that you can make sure if he is doubly poisoned or not," she said with concern.

Elrond nodded and got up from Elladan's bed. "Yes; let's go back to his room." But then he looked toward his son in the bed before him. "I will return as soon as I have other news of your brother. From the brief time I was able to touch you," he said, with a quirk of his lips, "I was able to determine that you are on the mend. You should be breathing more easily soon."

"I am sorry if I was… disrespectful before. I just… did not want you to expend… any energy on me… that you could give to Elrohir," Elladan explained brokenly.

Jeren couldn't believe her ears. Elladan was apologizing? He certainly wasn't all right, then. She didn't think she'd ever heard him apologize for anything in all the time she'd known him. She thought that Elrond would have touched Elladan's forehead—perhaps check for fever and a cause for his son's unusual behavior—but he did not. He turned to her and took her elbow again, escorting her through the Healing Halls and back out into the darkened corridor. But he stopped just outside Elrohir's door.

"I took you with me to see Elladan so that I could tell both of you of Elrohir's condition at the same time, so that I would not have to repeat myself. And while I told you both most of it while we were with him, I did not tell all. He feels guilty enough, thanks to me, that I did not want him to hear what I am about to tell you now, even though the bond he shares with his twin will eventually tell all. The idea that he allowed an apology to squeeze past his lips, as well as the fact that he did not question me more about the poison, tells me exactly how bad that concussion he has suffered still is.

"You need to be aware of what I suspect, since I know you will not be kept from Elrohir's side, and I also know, if what I think is true, his behavior will alarm you." He lowered his voice a little, as if he thought that Elrohir might hear him speaking through the door. "I think that Elrohir is now showing signs of another poison's presence in his body—one that has the opposite effect from the first. I can only hope that I am thinking about the correct sort of poison, but I will not be sure until he shows more symptoms.

"His heart seems to be speeding up. I expect the rest of his faculties will do so as well. He will grow agitated enough to rant and he will most assuredly hallucinate. The poisons Orcs use vary between one or two of these types—either they force a depression upon one's systems, causing the heart to beat slower and slower, or they accelerate things and one's heart will race, beating faster and faster, until it ultimately fails. In Elrohir's case, I believe both have been employed."

Jeren bit her lip to keep from crying and he stopped talking, his face looking grieved. "I will try and keep his heart rhythm within normal limits, but there is an end to my strength—as well as his. If only I knew which poison it was, I might could make an antidote for it before the symptoms grow so bad that they can kill him. Although I would wish otherwise, I only have so much strength with which to do battle against this. If sheer will could do it, then I would have no problem, but I am already weakened..."

Jeren put her arms around his neck, hugging him frantically. "You will do what you must and also what you can," she whispered. "I know that. I have faith in you, Father. You will not let him go without a monstrous fight."

Elrond's smile was sad as he opened the door and led the way into the room.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Help me, Nana…"

Jeren thought her heart would break the first time Elrohir had said this, his voice childlike, as if he were very afraid. But by now she was growing somewhat used to it, so she just smoothed the hair away from his clammy brow, while murmuring, "All is well… Nana is here… Worry not, my Rohir."

The first time he'd called out for his mother, wild-eyed and frantic, Jeren had tried to tell him that it was she—his wife—who was in the room, because he did not seem to see her. But he was beyond her speech, taken back to childhood when his mother was always there if he needed her. Yet it seemed as if somehow she'd forsaken him, and he was somewhere in a nightmare land, alone and fearful.

Elrond had explained to Jeren then that this was part of the poisonous daze he was in; that it would be better to play along with him, pretend she was Celebrian, soothe him in any way that she could. When Jeren had used Elrohir's full name, when he called out for his mother again, Elrohir wrinkled his brow as if confused by something, and Elrond explained that his wife had used shortened pet names for the twins; she'd always called him Rohir.

It had been three hours since Jeren and Elrond had reentered Elrohir's room. By the time they'd arrived, he'd begun to be restless in his sleep, his head tossing from side to side as he whispered incoherent phrases that were not understandable in Elvish or in the common tongue. As the morning had dawned, he'd become even more agitated.

For now, Elrond had gone to bring them back some food from the kitchen. Neither of them was hungry, but both knew the sense of eating, so as to replenish much needed energy. He'd wanted Jeren to go, but when she'd determined that Elrohir was in no immediate danger and that Elrond had not needed to stay, she found she could not leave her husband in all his distress, even if he didn't really know she was there. Besides, in her logic, it was Elrond, who might need time away—time to regroup or perhaps time to see to his other son; time to think about something else, even if only for a short while; or time to give in to his worry and grief alone, if that was what he chose to do.

Jeren glanced up as Mariel returned, bringing the herb-scented bowl of water she'd freshened. The aide put the bowl on the bedside table with all the other things that Elrond had been using to try and heal his son, or at the very least lessen his pain: A glass of water, some Miruvor, cloths and even some extra bandages, because Elrohir's wound continued to seep blood. They had changed his sheets an hour ago, because his feverish body continued to alternately break out in chills and then sweat profusely.

Jeren dipped one of the cloths from the table into the bowl, wrung it out, and then placed it on Elrohir's forehead. She had to hold it there in all his thrashing, and it didn't really do much good, but what else was there to do, besides watch as her husband grew worse?

Elrond was right behind Mariel, and he brought a small tray with meat and cheese and bread on it. He set it on the table and quickly bent to see if there was any change in his son. There was not…

He made a sloppy sandwich with the things he'd brought, and he handed it to Jeren. She accepted it gratefully, for as usual, the moment she'd seen the delectable food, her stomach had growled loudly. She took a huge bite and got out of the chair.

"Here, Father; sit," she said after she'd swallowed the first bite.

He didn't argue with her at all. He leaned his elbows on the mattress, placing one of his palms over Elrohir's heart, and the other he put under his own chin to support his weary head. As she ate, Jeren watched Elrond's face, trying to decide if he was heartened by what he felt—or even more worried.

She had her answer in several seconds, when he allowed the hand he'd had on Elrohir's chest to drop away, leaving his other elbow resting on the mattress, the fingers of that hand now folded under and his chin resting on his knuckles.

"He's worse—isn't he?" she asked, as the hand that was holding the sandwich dropped to her side.

He said nothing at first; he just nodded, his face grieved. He closed his eyes and stood again, but now his expression had grown fierce. "If only I knew what poison they used!"

Jeren looked toward the ceiling in despair, but then she quickly looked back at Elrond, as an idea came to her—one she was kicking herself now for not thinking of before. "Would having one of the arrows help?" she asked, afraid to be too optimistic too soon.

He looked at her warily. "Per-haps," he said, drawing out the word.

She wasted no more time, she dashed from the room and down the hallways of the house, taking the stairs two at a time until she came to the door of the room she shared with Elrohir. She ran inside, throwing the door open so quickly, it banged against the wall. She tore to her wardrobe, hoping against hope that someone had brought her gear inside—like they usually did. She opened the door, hardly daring to dream that her saddlebags had been brought in for her from outside.

"Thank the Valar!" she said out loud, as she lifted them and placed them onto her bed. She hurriedly opened the side she remembered throwing the pieces of the Orc's arrow into. She breathed a huge sigh of relief as her fingers closed around the two halves of the shaft.

She ran back the way she had come, not stopping until she reached Elrohir's bed. She was breathless as she held out the pieces of the arrow to Elrond.

"What's this?" he asked. "Tell me about it."

"This was an arrow that was shot at me yesterday," she said, in between gasps as she breathed. "Thank goodness it hit neither me nor Two; I found it sunk into my left stirrup, between my boot and the leather. Do you think there's enough poison on it to discern what it is?"

Elrond took the end of the arrow that had the head on it from her and held it up toward the light. "Yes, I can see the sheen of the poison on the tip as well as the shaft," he said, as he brought it down to hold it in both hands, turning it as if he were studying it. He held the arrowhead up to his nose and closed his eyes, taking a deep whiff of the poison on the arrow.

Without opening his eyes, he began to speak. "The most obvious scent is of laurel. That would be the second poison the arrow was dipped into." He paused, taking another smell of the broken shaft. "And I would hazard a guess that the second poison—beneath the laurel—is belladonna—deadly nightshade." He opened his eyes and ruffled the fletching on the broken end of the arrow. "I believe we are now dealing with the effects of the latter."

The knob on the door rattled, then it opened, and Elladan entered the room, surprising both Jeren and Elrond. He walked slowly and a little bent over, holding his right side with one hand; but his breathing, even after walking such a distance from his bed, was easier than it had been before.

Jeren frowned at him for causing delay in hearing what Elrond was going to do, now that he knew which poison was plaguing Elrohir. But her face softened as she thought about what Elladan must be going through. Elrohir acted heroically by choosing to ride with Elladan. She had a feeling that Elladan probably blamed himself for Elrohir's wound. If he hadn't already been injured, and therefore hardly able to stay on his horse through the chase, then in Elladan's mind, Elrohir probably wouldn't be lying here now.

She went to him so as to help him over to the chair she'd vacated earlier. He waved her away, and painstakingly made his way over to sit on the bed beside his very ill brother. He wore only the bandage around his middle and the filmy sleeping trousers favored by Elves here in Imladris; his feet were bare.

"After you came to see me on your way to the kitchen," he said to his father, taking a breath before he continued, "I found I could no longer stay away." Again he paused for a breath. "I know what I feel through our bond… and he's very troubled—heartbreakingly so."

"Elladan?" Elrohir suddenly said. "Are you there?"

Elladan grabbed hold of Elrohir's hand, clasping it palm to palm, their fingers intertwining. Elrohir held their joined fists to his chest, placing his other hand on top of them both. Then Elrohir starting speaking in the incoherent language he'd been using before, and unbelievably to the others in the room, Elladan answered him in the same tongue.

"I knew I recognized that language," Elrond said after a minute, "but I had not yet remembered where I had heard it, for I'd only heard it spoken a very short while, and only by two people in the entire world." The bittersweet smile on his face tugged at Jeren's heart.

Elladan acted as if he'd not even heard his father, and perhaps he hadn't. He had that serious, concentrating expression on his face, the one he wore when he was silently communicating with his twin.

Jeren's perplexed frown had Elrond explaining: "The twins invented a language all their own, when they were first learning to speak. It took a little longer than usual for them to come around to using the language their mother and I spoke, and when they didn't want us to know what they were talking about, they either spoke it or—reached inward to communicate."

Jeren appreciated the explanation, but when Elrond continued to stand there watching his sons, inside she was screaming, wondering what he was waiting for—why was he not rushing to prepare an antidote for the poison he now felt confident had been on the arrow that had struck Elrohir?

Mariel returned, bringing another bowl of fresh water with which to sponge Elrohir. and Elrond took her aside, whispering something to her, and then she left. Within moments she'd returned, with, of all things, a bottle of brandy and a small glass. Jeren thought mayhap Elrond was in need of the boost the liquor might bring him. But to her utter amazement, she watched as he poured a small bit of it into the glass, and then bent toward Elrohir, lifting his son's head so that he could take a swallow of the drink.

Elrohir sputtered and coughed as the fiery liquid went down his throat, and from the gagging he did, no one thought even that small swallow would stay down. Elrond substituted a water glass for the one containing the brandy, and then gave Elrohir a swallow of it. That seemed to quieten Elrohir once again, but then Elrond again took up the glass of brandy, repeating the process once more.

When he had Elrohir settled again, after another bout of gagging and coughing, Elrond left his side and walked over to where Jeren was standing. He took her hand and pulled her toward the door. As soon as they were outside, he continued their conversation that Elladan had interrupted before about the poison.

"As I said earlier, I believe we're dealing with the effects of belladonna poisoning. Now do not jump to any conclusions when you hear what I am about to tell you; there is no antidote for nightshade poisoning. All we can do is manage his symptoms, and it _will_ be a fight. But the battle is not lost or won as of yet. Do not think for a moment that I will give my son up without a fight, because I will not. We must give him stimulants—which I know sounds as if they would give us the opposite results, since he is restless—but trust me in this. Mariel will be bringing me essence of poppy soon, and that will help with his agitation. Although there really is nothing to be done, my mind is easier now that I know what I'm working against. Thank you, daughter, for remembering the arrow in your possession."

"I only wish I had remembered it sooner," Jeren said regretfully, even though she could see Elrond's calmer, yet more determined demeanor with her own eyes. His face had relaxed, but his jaw was set, as if he were ready to take up the fight again.

"None of that, now," Elrond said, sounding hauntingly familiar to Elrohir in that instant. "You remembered, but whether soon or late, it really made no difference to Elrohir in the end. And even though there is no antidote, knowing the poison has certainly succeeded in making me feel better." He placed his hand on the knob of the door, but before he turned it, he said, "Having a blindfold off and knowing one's opponent makes all the difference to the strength of one's fight."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**A/N: Dipping is something completely made up by me! I've certainly never heard of it, but it seems like a logical way to poison arrows, does it not? Yes, I did research it, but I didn't like the idea of Orcs smearing the poison directly on the arrowheads. Wasn't dramatic enough for me! Besides, I wanted the poison to be slow-acting; not something that would cause death instantly, like most of the poison arrows I researched did! So I decided that a solution would be more diluted, hoping that that would get the results that I wanted. Poor, poor Elrohir… **

**A/N2: Thanks to everyone who leaves reviews! It helps immensely to hear feed back, whether good or bad...**


	42. Chapter 42

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle-earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

As Elrond and Jeren went back into the room, Elladan was rising from his place on Elrohir's bed. He looked at his twin with worried eyes, then turned toward the two who had just arrived. "He seems asleep now," he said, his tone uneasy. "He no longer responds to my attempts to speak to him, in any way that we've ever communicated." At Jeren's stricken expression he hastened to add, "He's only asleep, I think. I would know if it were more than that."

He was swaying slightly on his feet, and Elrond hurried to his son's side, taking hold of his arm. His brow was furled with concern, and even though Elladan seemed oblivious to it, Elrond was reading his son's general welfare with the touch of his healing senses.

"You need to rest, Elladan," Elrond told him. "You are not healing as quickly as I thought you would. Yes, your breathing is much easier, but your color is bad; all is still not right with you."

Elladan said nothing more, he merely nodded his head.

"Jeren, would you please see Elladan back to his bed while I check on Elrohir?" Elrond asked.

Elladan rolled his eyes and his head fell back in frustration. He hated that his father felt the need to baby him, but he quickly stood tall again, immediately contrite. His father did not need any aggravation from him; not when he was dealing with trying to save his twin's life.

Jeren grimaced as if she wanted to refuse Elrond's request, and sensing her reluctance, he quickly added, "I cannot be two places at once…"

Her shoulders fell with resignation. "Certainly, Father," she said, trying her best to exercise forbearance. "But you will call for me if anything untoward happens while I am away?"

"Of course I will. But do take some time. You've been cooped up in this room for far too long." When Jeren looked at him in the same way that Elladan had moments before, he added, "You made _me_ leave earlier…" The smile that stole across his lips turned her hesitance at leaving into feelings of love for her father-in-law. Elrohir was in the best possible hands. Since there was truly nothing she could do for Elrohir besides sit with him, the least she could do was ease Elrond's mind as far as his other son was concerned.

Jeren put her arm through Elladan's and helped him from the room, into the darkened hallway and back into the main part of the Healing Halls. When they'd reached his bed, he shook his head slightly and pulled his arm away. "I would rather rest outside on the veranda."

"But it's cold out there," Jeren said as she gazed in dismay at his scantily clad body. She'd momentarily forgotten she was preaching to an Elf.

He smiled at her, and said, "Seeing the sun will do me good, and the fresh air of the valley will renew me. You do not have to accompany me; I know your wish is to return to Elrohir's side."

Even though she desperately wanted to get back to Elrohir, the sadness in Elladan's eyes would not allow her to abandon him. She took his arm again, although he probably didn't need her aid, and led the way outside, through the veranda door. The sun was shining brilliantly in the cloudless sky, and there was hardly any breeze. With the sleeves of her shirt and tunic, she was dressed warmly enough. She pulled a chair out as he did and seated herself opposite him.

He rested his elbows on the table and placed his steepled fingers against his lips. If a casual observer would have seen him there, even with the bandage around his chest, he did not seem ill or much injured at all. He looked to be in the prime of health, young and vibrant, and if not for the grieved expression on his face, one might have expected him to get up, get dressed and leave the Healing Halls, to pursue his interests, whatever they might be.

But Jeren knew him well. Faint lines of pain pinched his mouth slightly and his breath came quickly, as if he'd perhaps been walking too fast on a lively jaunt, instead of taking what had actually been just a slow walk back to his bed. His perfect Elven features did not fool her for a minute. He was deeply distressed, and she believed she knew exactly why.

"None of this was your fault, Elladan," she said in preamble. His eyes sought hers, but he didn't say anything. "None of it. Are you hearing me?"

After several moments with his gaze locked to hers he said, "I hear you. But hearing you does not negate all that I did wrong or neglected to do."

"You did not make Elrohir climb up behind you to ride!" she said forcefully, pausing a moment before she continued. "That was his brilliant idea, not yours." She'd made the comment lightly, but then she added, her voice rock steady, "And I think he did the right thing."

"Jeren," he started, "I do not need or want—"

"—Right now I don't care what you need or want," she stated candidly. "I care that the truth be told and heard." She waited slightly for another protest from him, but it did not come. "We would be mourning your death now," she said bluntly, "if he had not done as he did. I believe that sincerely. I witnessed everything. You could barely move, what with your broken ribs and the headache you must have had—and probably still do. Riding alone, you wouldn't have lasted for long in that chase with the Wargs. I barely survived it, and I was completely hale." Mirth sparkled in her eyes as she added, "_Human_ though I obviously am—I am an excellent rider and an outstanding warrior."

Elladan couldn't help the grin that bloomed across his lips, since what she'd thought to include in the first part of her statement was exactly what he'd been thinking. And her attempt at lightheartedness was contagious, even though the feeling didn't last long for either of them.

"I love Elrohir with my entire being," she said, and her voice as well as her face had a soft quality to it that people rarely witnessed from her. "And one of the things I love most about him is how he cares for his family. There is nothing he wouldn't do for any of you, and that's exactly the way it should be. You demonstrated that trait yourself the other night. You went to him in his distress over Andis, and even though you knew he was going to fly into a rage, you were willing to endure a sound beating in order to rid him of enough of his sadness that he wouldn't be in emotional pain. _You_ did that for _him_ at a cost to yourself. He was only returning your act of kindness with one of his own."

Elladan buried his face in his hands, and Jeren feared she'd somehow made things worse. Daring his anger, she took hold of his wrist and pulled one of his hands away. "You are hearing me, are you not Elladan?"

He nodded, but his eyes were still bleak. "Yet even hearing what you are telling me, I feel in my heart that I am at fault." He looked into her eyes, needing her to hear him now. "You know the two of us—Elrohir and I are quite similar in appearance, but our personalities are as night and day. I tend to be a leader—" He stopped and considered what he'd just said. "Perhaps it is more accurate to say that I can be a tyrant. I decide what is best in a given situation and then intimidate people until they comply with my wishes. Somewhat the same way that my father can."

Jeren tried to suppress a short laugh, but was unsuccessful.

He smiled back at her and then continued. "Elrohir, on the other hand, has much more diplomacy than I do. He persuades where I coerce. And when he deals with me, he simply lets me have my way, if he can find no serious fault with doing so.

"Yesterday was a prime example of my bullheadedness at its worst. If I hadn't been so argumentative—if I had just agreed with him for a change, instead of insisting on having my own way—perhaps I would have sensed the Orcs much sooner than I did, and neither of us would have been hurt."

"It takes more than one person to have an argument, Elladan," Jeren said sensibly. "If you were arguing, then so was Elrohir. He could have detected the Orcs sooner, just as you could have." She shook her head, disagreeing with him. "No. It wasn't your fault. No matter how you try and twist things, you are not to blame in this."

As she'd talked, she was confused to see that instead of Elladan looking relieved, he was becoming more and more distressed. She reached across the table to grasp his hand again.

"What is truly bothering you, Elladan?"

He said nothing at first; he just looked at her with haunted eyes that pleaded silently for her understanding. Finally, reluctantly, he said, his voice shaking with emotion, "I am deeply afraid he will die…"

Jeren could see the stark fear in his eyes, could almost feel it in her own heart. It was an eerie feeling, as if the knowledge that both she and Elladan would die if Elrohir did, was a well-known truth. And it was as if they both would welcome that truth, if Elrohir ceased to live. She briefly wondered if her bond with Elrohir somehow tied her to Elladan as well, and if that was where these feelings were coming from. Before she could pursue that line of thought further, she folded his hand into both of hers. "I am afraid of that as well."

They were silent for several moments, and Jeren wondered if what she had felt, which she was all but sure had been projected by Elladan, was true—would Elrohir's death cause Elladan to die? Could he not exist without his twin?

She knew it would be hard for _her_ in that eventuality, and she wondered if she'd be able to go on. As thoughts of losing Elrohir sped through her panicked mind, she suddenly felt as if she couldn't breathe. Losing him would feel as if her beating heart had been torn from her chest. And, as she'd just wondered about Elladan, she didn't know if she could go on living, either.

Elrohir was her rock—the person who made everything right in her world. If he died he wouldn't be here to talk her through it. He'd always been there, through the devastating things that had happened to her in her life. It had been Elrohir who had gotten her home to Imladris quickly, so that she could see her father one last time before he died from a poisoned wound. He had been the one who'd picked her up, after her arm had nearly been completely severed last year, bringing her home to Elrond, and then insisting that he save her limb. Then, when she'd felt completely useless, he'd made her see that she could still be worthwhile—but more than that; he'd told her that she might not turn out to be exactly as she had been before the injury, but that she didn't even know what she was able to do—because she hadn't even tried. He was gently insistent that she must at least try.

If she lost him now, she knew it would be his desire that she go on, just as she had after the Orcs had brutalized her when she was sixteen. She'd wanted to die then, as surely as the sun rose each morning. She was besieged by nightmares that visited her whether she was asleep or awake. Just closing her eyes had their horrid visages infecting her mind as clearly as they would have been if the Orcs had been standing right in front of her. Yes, she would have welcomed death then, but there he'd been—Elrohir—as he always was—and he'd told her the story of his mother's assault by the same vile beasts. Celebrian had, like her, been molested by Middle-earth's most violent inhabitants. He had told her sadly how it seemed as if his mother had just given up, and how that had left him feeling abandoned by her. The story he'd told, as had been his intent, had hit her exactly where she'd lived—she'd always prided herself in never giving up or giving in.

But could she do it this time, if what she was fighting was Elrohir's death? Could she live at all if he were gone, without his tender wisdom to talk her through it? She didn't know. And she surely didn't want to find out.

As she dwelled on these things, she could feel panic surge through her, as thoughts about Elrohir dying continued to claw their way up her trembling spine, so she determinedly pushed them away, refusing to think about it at all right now. Jeren knew she would be afraid until Elrond pronounced Elrohir out of danger—if he got the opportunity to do that at all—but being afraid was different from all-out panic. She couldn't be hysterical and still be effective at helping Elrohir in any way that she could. And right now it would comfort him if he knew she was aiding his brother, and seeing her panic would only make Elladan feel worse. So she renewed her determination to curb her terror by fighting it viciously until she had it beaten back down to mere fear...

She took a deep breath of the clear valley air, trying to calm herself even more. She looked at Elladan sitting beside her, and she could pretty much tell his thoughts were as depressing as hers had just been. Doubting she could say or do anything else that would dissuade him from his guilt, she rose. "I should be getting back," she said.

Elladan took hold of her hand again before she could leave. "There's something else I need to say." She sat back down again.

"Jeren, about before…" Elladan said uncertainly. At her confused stare, he went on. "On the way back, when you and I were arguing..." At her dawning look of understanding, he said, "I never meant to hurt you—"

Jeren started to protest, but he put two of his fingers against her lips. "I hate that what transpired between the two of us has hurt my brother. I _hate_ that," he repeated forcefully. "But I feel compelled to tell you, the night we had together was never something I took lightly."

"It's all right, Elladan," she assured him.

"No, it isn't," he replied. "I cannot let you go on thinking that all I was doing was taking advantage of the situation. It wasn't like that at all." He held up his hand to again stop her protests, whatever they might have been. "I was confused about what I felt for you."

Jeren closed her mouth to listen to him. She'd always wondered about his feelings. He'd told her some of them, but never in depth, and she'd been eternally curious about it all.

She couldn't help musing about how she used to think herself hopelessly in love with him. It took time, and some of Elrond's wise words, to help her to see that a victim often finds in her rescuer someone that should be held above others, almost as a person to be worshiped. For years she'd been unable to see that her love for Elladan was like that at all , but gradually, as Elladan continually told her he felt there was no future for them, it seemed to sink in. And being distracted by Rhyse hadn't hurt either. Her love for Rhyse had finally reopened her heart. She'd been able to see then that there could be love after Elladan had denied her. And knowing these things helped her to finally see that it had been Elrohir all along that she loved; the one person in her life that she could count on no matter the situation. The one that she loved more than anyone else…

"As it turns out, I was right to question my feelings for you," Elladan continued. "Elrohir is the one you were meant to be with. I can see it in his eyes as well as feel it in his heart."

Not for the first time was Jeren in awe of the twins' inner bond. She imagined it was like to the one that she and Elrohir now shared. But to have had it from the moment of birth? To be so connected to another during all of one's life? She could just barely imagine what Elladan must be going through now. If Elrohir did not live, Elladan would be so alone. Their bond would die along with his twin. He'd be alone as he'd never been in his entire lifetime.

"I did love you—_do_, love you—" he corrected, "—as a sister to me and as my brother's wife. That time with you taught me as nothing else has, that one's heart is not to be scattered into several pieces among many lovers, but to be kept to oneself until the right person comes along. I spent much time dwelling on this, and that is the conclusion I drew."

"Truly, Elladan," she said. "You do not have to give me more explanation. I knew at the time that you were not 'just taking advantage'. I was being conniving myself that night, as you well know." She smiled warmly at him then. "But hearing you acknowledge your feelings now helps. It makes me know that I was wrong in believing that you had no heart at all."

He laughed quietly at her teasing, and his face was finally looking as if he had somehow been comforted.

"It was a long time ago," she continued. "Much has happened in our lives. And now I am very content—completely in love with Elrohir. Nothing will ever change that—not even his death, if it be soon…"

She hated to leave after having spoken of what they both feared, but it was because of that fear that she got up then, placing her hand on his shoulder. "Do you need help to get back to your bed?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No. I think I will sit here awhile longer." Before Jeren had a chance to turn away, he added, "Thank you, Sister. Speaking to you about—everything—has made me feel better. I am still afraid for Elrohir; that hasn't changed. But I don't feel the guilt that was weighing on me before. Just know that you will always have a place in my heart, whatever may happen."

Jeren smiled and turned away, but her smile did not stay in place for long.

And she practically ran all the way back to Elrohir's bedside.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"How is he?" Jeren asked breathlessly as she entered the room where Elrohir was fighting for his life.

Elrond looked at her briefly, but then turned back to his son. He was again sitting on the bed, one hand resting against Elrohir's chest. "He is mostly as he was before. He looks to be peacefully sleeping, but his heart is racing now. I hesitate to interfere yet; I will need my strength later, I think."

Jeren heaved a deep sigh and went to sit in the chair beside Elrohir's bed. It looked to her as if Elrond had no strength left at all to intervene—whether it be early or late that he might decide to do it. She took one of Elrohir's hands into both of hers, and the clamminess of his palm made her want to set it down again, but she held on in spite of that.

"I have given him all the brandy and poppy that I can for now, but it hasn't done much good."

"Has he been awake at all?" she asked him.

"Not really," Elrond said. "He opened his eyes once and called for you, but he did not even acknowledge my presence." At seeing Jeren's remorseful face at this news, that she hadn't been here to help her husband when he'd needed her, he hastened to add, "Do not worry… He seemed undisturbed by your absence. And he wasn't aware. It was obviously just another dream he was having—or perhaps it was hallucination." Changing the subject, he asked, "Did you get Elladan settled again?"

"Yes," she said, "but he didn't want to get back into bed. I left him sitting on the veranda outside his room in the Healing Halls." She smiled, thinking about their conversation. "I think I talked him out of most of his guilt over Elrohir. At least I hope I have…"

Elrond smiled at her then. "That was a good thing for you to do. He doesn't need to carry that. I don't know what I could have thought I was accomplishing earlier when I blamed him—for this."

"You are a father, is all," Jeren stated plainly. "You wished for answers concerning Elrohir and none were forthcoming. And, knowing Elladan, he was probably feeling very guilty before you even said a thing."

He glanced at her. "I suppose you are right, but I don't think you will be able to talk me out of my guilt for blaming one son for the condition of another." He shook his head. "Celebrian would have wanted to kill me, had she witnessed me doing such a thing."

"I don't know much about being a parent," Jeren admitted, "but I do know a little something about being a wife. Somehow I think she would have understood your pain. She might have defended her son, but she would have understood what her husband was going through—because she would be going through it, too."

They lapsed into companionable silence as they waited for Elrohir to respond to something—anything; the herbs he'd been given; their voices; the touch of their hands; something… But he continued to sleep.

Lulled by the quiet of the room, Jeren could feel her head slip forward. She was so tired. She'd been up most of the night—had slept sitting up for a couple of hours—and now it was midday. She fought sleep, but was finding it difficult to stay awake in such a quiet and serene setting.

They sat there still as stones for the better part of another hour. Elrohir then began to stir again. She supposed the herbs might be wearing off. She took up the cloth in the bowl of herbal water, wrung it out, and placed it on his forehead. He murmured something she could not understand. It sounded like Elvish, but not the familiar dialect of what the Elves in Imladris spoke every day. She turned toward Elrond with question in her eyes.

"He's speaking Quenya, now," he said, an ironic look on his face, but that expression tempered to fondness, as he remembered his son as a child. "As he grew up, he hated his lessons in the different languages spoken throughout our land. I do believe he hated Dwarvish worst of all. But he even disliked learning the Elven ones—especially Quenya. He swore he'd never speak it, once he had it learned." Elrond smiled with the memory. "The only time he found the lessons at all palatable, was when we'd be visiting in Lothlorien and his grandfather would take him to hand. Celeborn is a natural with young ones. I wish he could have been here when Andis and Jessa were with us. He—and they—would have enjoyed one another immensely."

Elrohir's talking increased then, along with his agitation. His head tossed from side to side.

"What's he saying?" Jeren asked, when she heard him mention her name. Whatever this was that Elrohir was experiencing, be it a dream or a hallucination, he was fearful or angry or both.

Elrond hesitated long, and Jeren wasn't sure he was going to give her an answer.

"Father?" she said, her tone insistent.

He got up from his place on the bed, walking around it until he was finally standing beside her. "From what I can deduce he must be dreaming that you are in peril. He is saying that he fears for you—Orcs are about. You can hear him say '_urqui'_ can you not? That is 'Orcs' in Quenya."

Jeren listened intently to Elrohir then and could indeed pick out the word that Elrond had just mentioned. She took hold of her husband's hand again with both of hers, squeezing it, willing him to realize that she was right beside him and was not being beset by Orcs.

But nothing helped, and Elrohir's anger turned into tears of frustration and terror. He kept repeating a phrase through his weeping, something that Jeren couldn't interpret. Elrond bent down, placing his hands on Elrohir's chest. _Both of his hands…_

She couldn't tell if it was an attempt to keep Elrohir more quiet, or perhaps if he was checking Elrohir's heart rate, or even if he was imparting some of his healing essence. Jeren's tortured eyes sought Elrond's, only to find him looking back at her.

"I must intervene now," he said, sounding as if it was his last resort. "His heart is racing even faster—I do not know how long it can withstand the pressure of working so hard."

"What is he saying now?" she asked, in her grief at seeing Elrohir this way, inadvertently ignoring his father. Her voice broke as she witnessed, but could do nothing about, her husband's terrified state.

Elrond swallowed his own torment before he answered her. "He is saying, 'Leave her alone.' He's begging them to stop hurting you."

Elrond was worried, Jeren could tell. His brows were drawn together in a deep, fearful frown. She exhaled loudly in exasperation. "If only there was something I could do to help him!" she said, her voice just short of being a wail. "I wish I could reach inside his mind and show him I'm fine; that it's only a dream, and I am right here beside him."

Elrond suddenly stood straight, and his face looked as if some idea had occurred to him, and he was considering it from all angles.

"What is it, Father?" Jeren asked, sure that he'd thought of something she might do.

"Yes…" he said, mostly to himself. "Yes; that might work." As he looked at her, measured excitement crept into his expression. "Your marriage bond." He'd said it as if that phrase alone should tell her exactly what he was thinking about.

"Please, Father. You must be more specific. What about our bond will help Elrohir now?"

"Lie beside him," he said, as he pulled the covers away from Elrohir's body.

Jeren stood, still uncertain, and she put a knee on the bed in preparation of doing as Elrond had said.

"No," he said in obvious frustration, taking her arm to pull her back and shaking his head slightly. "Take off your tunic and leggings first. The more of your skin that touches his, the better this will work, if it works at all."

She looked at him askance, and he practically shouted at her, "There's no time for your modesty! Do as I say!"

She shucked off her outer clothes and her boots and socks as quickly as she could, and then, in her underclothes, she slipped beneath the covers and right up against Elrohir's thrashing body.

At first it had been like holding onto a bucking horse, he had become so violent in his dream state. Elrond's plan didn't seem to be working.

She wondered if she should take off the rest of her clothing, so that she could have even closer contact with him, prepared to do anything if it would help Elrohir. But as the moments went by, with her skin touching his, she could feel him begin to grow quieter, until after only a few minutes, he was lying calmly in her arms. And she smiled a beaming smile when his arms instinctively enclosed around her.

She sought Elrond's eyes, wanting him to acknowledge to her that his plan had worked. He leaned over Elrohir, placing his fingers at the pulse on his neck, checking his heart rate.

"Yes, it's better, but still not slowed enough," he said. "You can feel his heart pounding, can you not?"

Jeren frowned slightly, but nodded her head.

"What I am going to do now is put him into a healing sleep; see if that does not slow his heart down to a proper pace. As I am doing so, I want you to delve into your bond with him, call to him, until he answers you." Jeren nodded again and closed her eyes.

"You will sleep, too," Elrond said, his voice taking on that Elven lilt, that always made Human listeners become calm and peaceful, "but while you are wakeful, keep thinking of joining with him; draw him to you and out of the darkness. I believe if he truly knows you are in no danger—more so than on this basic level to which he is now responding—that it will calm him even more. The calmer he is the more chance there is that his heart rate will slow even further. If all this works together, for a long enough time, I believe he will weather this storm and the effects of the poison will dissipate as he sleeps."

Jeren nodded her head again. Even though she'd been listening to every word he'd said, she'd kept her eyes closed, and had already begun to reach inward, calling for Elrohir. _Asking him to come to her—to know she was there_.

After only seconds, she realized that Elrond was no longer speaking, so she knew she had to act quickly. She had to reach her husband before she fell into the deep sleep that Elrond was by necessity imposing on Elrohir, and due to her close proximity to him, she would be caught in the web of slumber as well.

She reached inward, finding their bond and anchoring herself to it. She'd never done such before, but it was more or less an intrinsic reaction on her part. She did not question, she only felt—and reached…

'_Elrohir… Can you hear me, husband? I need you to move toward my voice. Come out of the darkness and join me.'_

She waited even as she continued to call for him. But then she felt her consciousness fading, and she wanted to weep with despair. She'd not been able to reach him in time...

She made one last desperate attempt.

'_Elrohir… please. I need you to stretch toward my voice. Are you there?'_

At first, all she got in response to her plea was a deafening silence. Then, as she felt the last vestiges of consciousness slip away, she heard a quiet answer:

'_I am here, Jeren…'_

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

_His voice startled her and she opened her eyes; at least she thought she had. _

_Everything was different from before. She was no longer in the room in the Healing Halls, lying in bed beside Elrohir. She was standing in a sunlit chamber, very like her room in Imladris, in that one entire wall was open to a veranda. That is where the likeness ended, though; for the view out beyond her was not from on high to gaze down into a valley. Not at all. Instead of seeing Imladris, she gazed on an expanse of sandy beach. All one would need do would be to step from the room and onto the sand to walk to the water several yards away where the surf pounded on the shore. Sea birds played in the buffeting wind, calling to one another as they soared on the warm salt breeze._

_She wiggled her toes, feeling the sand beneath her feet that had blown in on the floor where she stood. She turned and looked around the room, before looking down at herself. She was doubly surprised by what she saw. Gone were the underclothes she'd been clad in before. She was standing in a sleeveless white gown, the fabric delicate. Her hair cascaded down her back in loose waves, as if it had just been released from its braid. She'd been so taken by all the newness around her that she'd momentarily forgotten her task of finding Elrohir—making sure he was all right. But just as she remembered it, she heard a noise and whirled around. _

_And there he was… Looking as fit and handsome as ever._

_He was wearing a loose white shirt made of lawn and white leggings that hugged him all the way down to his feet, which were bare. He was standing out on the veranda in the sun, and the wind played with his hair, sending a section of it across his eyes and mouth, until he faced the breeze, and it was blown back again. A smile flickered along his lips as he saw her, and his gaze drank her in. Jeren ran to him, throwing herself into his arms, letting him hold her close. She breathed in the smell of him, could feel his heart beating as it should. She hugged him tighter._

"_I'm so thankful that you are all right!" she exclaimed. _

"_How else would I be?" he asked, as if surprised by her statement._

_She pulled away slowly. "Do you not remember?"_

"_The last thing I remember is falling from Elladan's horse and tumbling down into a gorge." He stopped for a moment, then said, "Orcs on Wargs were chasing after us and I'd been hit by an arrow. I was beginning to feel decidedly unwell. Was it poisoned?"_

"_Yes," Jeren said as she nodded. "And the last thing I remember was lying down beside you in a bed in the Healing Halls, with your father about to place you into a deep, healing sleep. Do you suppose this is a dream we are having?"_

_He looked at her skeptically. "Have you ever been in a dream that someone else was having at the same time that you were having it?"_

_She looked at him doubtfully, a ghost of a smile on her face. "I'm not exactly sure what you just asked me."_

_He chuckled and looked around himself then, backing away from her slightly. "Where are we, anyway?"_

"_I was hoping you might know," she replied, as she strolled back toward the inside of the room. _

_He looked at her then and admitted, "No; I've no idea." But then his eyes darkened, and he said, "You don't suppose we're dead, do you? Did you also get shot by the Orcs who were attacking us?" Before he gave her a chance to answer, he continued, his voice somber, "Somehow I didn't picture the Halls of Mandos being on a seashore."_

"_You are both dreaming…"_

_It was another voice who'd made the statement, a beautiful Elven voice that Elrohir knew well. He cautiously took several steps into the chamber, because that is where it sounded as if the voice had come from. He turned in a slow circle, searching all around him. He looked at Jeren with eyes grown awed, and his lips parted in great surprise. _

"_Mother?" he called, for no one was in the room with them. "Where are you? How can this be?"_

_Celebrian walked into view then, coming from the direction of the shore. "You were calling for me; I could not ignore you."_

_The sight of the Elven woman took Jeren's breath away. She'd seen portraits of the Lady of Imladris many times, and while she could have identified Elrohir's mother from them, they had not done justice to the vision standing before her now in a dress of palest green. The bodice was cut fairly low, exposing her shoulders, and around her neck she wore a beautiful pendant. It was suspended from a fine gold chain, and the pendant itself was also of gold—two hearts entwining…_

_Her hair was the most exquisite shade of blonde, appearing gilded in the sunlight, and it rippled as it wove its way over her shoulders and down her back, almost to her hips. Her eyes were a startling blue, not quite the shade of the sea rolling on the shore, but very much like the sky above it. She was slim and tall, almost the height of her son. _

_Elrohir ran to her and engulfed her into his arms, pulling her up off the ground and twirling her slightly._

_Then he stood back, astonished. "I would think I were dead and was seeing a ghost, but you appear to be the picture of health and are supposed to be alive and well—in Valinor."_

_She laughed lightly, and it resembled the tinkling of bells. "It is a dream, my son," she said with a smile. "All things are possible when one dreams." She paused for a moment, drinking in the sight of her Rohir. "Yes, I am alive and well in Valinor—and doing very well now—except for missing my family." She stood back a little, placing her hands on his arms as she took in the sight of him from top to bottom. "You are looking well in this dream. I hope you are so in reality." Her beautiful brow puckered with concern. "If you are so well, then why were you calling for me?"_

"_I remember…" he said haltingly, "—some dreams I was having—" A shudder shot through him at the remembrance. "—they were horrific—and completely out of my control. I was not walking the dream paths; that was very apparent… which is another impossible thing… isn't it?"_

_She smiled at him again, since he seemed like a small one, who had just walked a very precarious dream path he'd been warned against taking. "I wish your father were here," Celebrian said. "Perhaps he could shed some light on this."_

"_I wish he were here, too. And Elladan and Arwen. They would be so happy to see you, Mother… just as I am." He pulled her to him again. "I have missed you so…"_

"_And I you, my Rohir…"_

_Jeren backed away, feeling as if she were intruding on this reunion. But just then Elrohir stepped back from Celebrian and his smile was warm. "Mother, I want you to meet someone." His eyes sought Jeren's, and he reached his arm out toward her. "This is my wife, Jeren." _

_She hurried to his side, sliding an arm around his waist. She couldn't believe how shy she felt. His mother… She never dreamed to be seeing the Elf woman face to face—especially not in a dream she was sharing with her husband..._

"_My lady," Jeren said, as she bowed her head slightly._

_Celebrian smiled, but said, "Come closer… let me get a good look at you."_

_Jeren took the few steps needed to be standing right in front of the beautiful Elf. Celebrian grasped Jeren's hands in hers and stood there gazing at her. At one point, she cocked her head to the side._

"_You are Human, but there are traces of Númenor in your look." Celebrian smiled again, and Jeren could see the resemblance between Elrohir's mother and Galadriel. She'd never had the pleasure of meeting his grandmother, but there were also portraits of her in some of the rooms of Rivendell, and she'd always thought that the likeness between the two Elven women was uncanny._

_As Celebrian stood there studying Jeren, her smile turned bittersweet, her voice sorrowful. "My son has the look about him that tells me that his love for you is boundless. I had so hoped that my children would join me in Valinor sooner or later, but…"_

_She didn't finish, but Jeren knew what Celebrian wasn't saying—that she now believed that Elrohir would not be leaving Middle-earth when Elrond did. And if Elrohir didn't, then Elladan wouldn't either… and Celebrian thought it was because he'd bonded with her._

_Jeren's eyes dropped to the floor, but Elrohir put his arm around her, pulling her close again. "Mother, I have made no plans not to come to Valinor, when I deem my life in Middle-earth fulfilled." His face looked stern, his words just bordering on harshness. "Do not bring strife into our reunion where none should be present."_

_Celebrian smiled warmly again, even though she had to wipe the tears from her eyes, and she didn't, as Jeren might have expected, show anger at being chastised by one of her sons. "Of course you are right, Rohir," she said. "I'm just a mother who misses her children." _

_Her mood changed suddenly, and it seemed as if she'd just remembered something, or had subtly been reminded of an idea by someone that neither Jeren nor Elrohir could see. "I feel our time grows short, and I must not waste it on things that are uncertain. I would wish to hear for hours about your father and Elladan and Arwen, but we truly have no time." She tugged on Elrohir's hand, pulling him toward her a little, so that both he and Jeren stood directly in front of her. "I almost forgot, with my joy of seeing you, that I have been sent for a reason; I have a message for you, my Rohir. And now, seeing Jeren, I understand it. Do not ask from whom it springs, for I cannot tell you, but it is urgent. _

"_Much strife and war will soon beset the land in which you are living. It is vital to you both that you do not sit idly by." She looked at Jeren directly then, even as she backed away. "Do not sit idly by," she repeated._

_Jeren was mesmerized by Celebrian's deep blue eyes, feeling as if she were being drawn in, and for the briefest instant, the future flashed before her: She saw people she had never met, of different races. Elves that were not from Imladris, who wore green and brown—like the Elves from the Woodland Realm. Hobbits, like Bilbo; but who were definitely not him… She saw Aragorn with men she had never met before… and Dwarves…_

_Before either of them could react to her message, Celebrian turned and ran toward the shore. Jeren snapped back to reality, feeling as if she'd been on another plain entirely. As they stood there dumbfounded, with their feet seemingly locked to the floor, Celebrian turned back for an instant, and in that same instant, she was holding a child. A little girl child, with beautiful gray eyes and raven hair, which was pulled back into an intricate braid. _

_The girl pointed at Jeren and Elrohir, and smiling, she held her arms out toward them and said, "Nana! Ada!"_

_With that, Celebrian smiled brightly at the child and began walking sedately toward the sea again._

_Elrohir started after his mother, running so that he could reach her and ask her what all this meant. Yet his reasons were more than just merely looking for answers—he wanted to bring her back, so that he could be with her longer. But she and the child were gone in only seconds, as if they'd been swallowed by the sea. _

_He turned and walked slowly back to Jeren, and when he reached her, he pulled her into his embrace, holding on to her tightly, as if his heart might be breaking._

_As they stood there holding each other, they heard Celebrian's voice again, as if it were being carried on the wind: "Rohir, please tell your father that I love him and miss him down to the depths of my very soul…"_

_Then all they could hear was the pounding of the surf, as they stood there together on the veranda._

"_I am sorry, Elrohir," Jeren said against his neck. "I know you would have loved having her stay. _

"_I know exactly how you feel—I've been visited by my mother at times, dead as she's been for these long years. And while I know that your mother is living, so it isn't exactly the same, every time my mother left me, it was as if she had died again." She paused for a moment, letting her voice settle down, for the emotion had made tears spring to her eyes. _

"_But be joyful! Your mother is alive! And more than that, she is finally well; she's just in Valinor. Your father will be so relieved to hear of her glowing health…_

"_And you will see her again, hold her again, speak to her again, in a time when she will not fade away and you will not be dreaming. Because this _is_ a dream, and soon we'll both awaken and by then, the poison will have left you, and you will be well again."_

_Jeren wasn't sure how she knew these things she was telling Elrohir, but she knew them as well as she knew that in the next instant she would draw another breath. She didn't question it, she simply held her husband as he grieved, because the reunion with his mother had been so brief._

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren opened her eyes and found herself staring into Elrohir's gaze. He smiled, but she could tell he was still ill. He was so pale as to appear a very unappealing shade of green. She thought that might have more to do with the lampshades in the room, and their green and yellow glass, than the state of his health, but there were also dark circles around his eyes, making him look as if he had been on the wrong end of a losing brawl. She placed her hand on his chest, trying to determine if she could still feel his heart pounding, but thankfully it just beat peacefully beneath her palm. She gathered him into her embrace, so glad that, while he wasn't completely all right, he seemed much improved and on the path to recovery.

Then she lifted herself up on one elbow, looking for Lord Elrond, surprised that he had not immediately descended upon Elrohir the moment of his awakening, but she didn't have to look far to find him. He sat in the chair on the opposite side of the bed from her, one of his elbows propped on the arm and his face in his hand. He looked to be completely asleep—with his eyes closed. It was no wonder, as exhausted as he had been before...

She lay back down, not wanting to disturb his rest, and looked at Elrohir again.

"Good morning," he said quietly.

"Is it?" she asked in a whisper, trying not to wake the Lord of Imladris. "Morning, I mean. It was just past midday when I laid down here beside you. Have we been asleep for the rest of the day and all night, too?"

He lifted his brows and his grin was sly. "How should I know? I've been asleep for a while." His smile slipped a little, as he said, "I had the most unusual dream…"

She quirked one side of her mouth. "Normal people wouldn't believe the dream that I just had…" she said in reply.

"Tell me about yours," Elrohir said guardedly, "then I will tell you about mine."

"We were together at a seashore…"

"You were beautiful…" he said, and his smile had bloomed to one of a loving husband.

Jeren couldn't help her blush. If there was one thing she knew absolutely, it was that she was never one who could be considered beautiful.

Elrohir ran his fingers through her hair, which she suddenly realized was out of its braid—just as it had been in the dream. Yet when she'd lain down here, it had still been plaited. _How odd…_

"Your mother was there…" she said hesitantly.

"And she was wearing a dress of green…" he finished.

Her brow furled, as if she were greatly confused—or perhaps it was more from worry. "Then it's true? We were dreaming the same dream—at the same time?"

His brows rose again. "It certainly seems so…"

They'd been whispering together, barely making any sound, so as not to wake up the Elf lord who was sitting in the chair. Not knowing exactly what to do with this new and disturbing information, Jeren chose to ignore it for the present and raised herself up on one arm, preparing to rise. With her voice barely audible, she said, "Well, I suppose I should get up. I've been abed for much too long—however long it has been."

But Elrohir caught her hand before she could make her escape, and pulled her back down and into his embrace. His lips caressed the skin behind her ear, trailing down her neck.

"Elrohir!" Jeren fussed, as quietly as she could, disbelieving that he was hale enough to be romantic. "You've been ill—you almost died!"

"I don't feel dead, Jeren," he said, "just the opposite." His eyes held mischief, even shrouded as they were in shadow against the paleness of his face.

"But your father!" she insisted. "He's sitting right over there!"

"He won't mind. He has his own wife…"

Jeren started to chuckle, but then they both heard the clearing of a lordly throat.

"_El_-rohir…" Elrond said, emphasizing the first syllable of his son's name as he rose from the chair. "Unhand your wife and settle down. She is right. You have been gravely ill. Now lie still."

"But Father," he began in protest, and he lifted himself up on his elbows then, but promptly fell back to a prone position. He blinked his eyes, as if he might be dizzy or disoriented.

"Don't 'but Father' me," Elrond said sternly, which was his usual reply if any of his sons protested when he was trying in vain to keep them quiet after an injury. "_You_ haven't been sitting here for days, not knowing whether one you held dear was going to live or not. Now be still!"

Properly chastised, Elrohir relaxed again. "How long do I have to stay here?" he asked sullenly.

Elrond shook his head, but smiled. The health and vigor of his sons' egos never ceased amazing him. Even half dead, they still insisted that they could manage on their own.

"_After _I am satisfied that all of your systems are in proper working order, then I _might_ think to release you from my care—but not an instant before. Am I clear?"

Elrohir mumbled something that might have been, 'Crystal clear, Sire,' but when Elrond crooked one of his formidable brows at him, he quickly replied, speaking so that his father could definitely hear him, "Yes, Father; you are clear."

"That is better," Elrond said, making his way to Jeren's side of the bed. She'd been mesmerized by the exchange between the father and the son, so soon after waking up mostly befuddled from one of Elrond's deep sleeps, as well as from the lingering effects of the very strange dream she'd had.

"You have both been sleeping for almost eighteen hours. And you might believe, _El_-rohir, that you have rested enough, but while the sleep was a healing one, you used every bit of your energy fighting those poisons. It's no wonder you are too weak to even lift your head. And I believe you might still be experiencing some effects of the poison. You seem to be feeling remarkably well, but I believe that is just the belladonna still making itself known, giving you the idea that you could get up and be about your day."

He held a hand out to Jeren, which she took as she swung her feet to the floor. He had one of the robes that were kept in the Healing Halls draped across one arm, which he handed to her. She quickly shrugged into it, pulling her hair from beneath it, and then knotting the belt around her waist. Again she thought about her hair—how it had been braided, but now was not. She frowned with the puzzle of it all.

"Is something wrong?" Elrond asked her quietly. "I am sorry if I was sharp to you yesterday. It was just that there was a great need for urgency."

"Not at all," she hastened to tell him. "I've taken orders from much sterner taskmasters than you, Father," she said, as a smile found its way to her lips. "It's just that when I got into bed, my hair was braided, and now—it isn't."

"I hope you do not mind, but I took the liberty…" he said, his voice uncertain. "I knew you'd sleep for several hours, and I did not know how you could be at all comfortable with you hair trussed up as it was."

She smiled again. "I certainly do not mind," she said. "At least the mystery is solved."

She kissed Elrohir before she left to bathe and change, but it was Elrond who was frowning after her as she exited the Healing Halls.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"This is nice," Elrohir said as he took a sip of his wine.

"Yes, it is," Jeren agreed. She, too, held a glass of the potent red Dorwinion, but her appetite had not been good for the past few days, and the scent of the drink did nothing to increase her desire for anything edible.

Elrond had not allowed Elrohir to leave the Healing Halls until he had regained enough strength that he could walk to his bed chamber himself. So the younger Elf had been a model patient all that day—eating the broths his father brought to him every time he had brought one; drinking whatever herbal concoctions his father set before him; resting as his father directed. He had been granted his fondest wish that same evening, to get out of the prison, as he termed the Healing Halls, but only with the promise that he stay in his bed for a few days and take his meals in his room. No undue excitement and plenty of rest—those had been Elrond's instructions before he'd allowed his son to leave, walking with Jeren's aid through the hallways of The Last Homely House to their bedchamber.

That had been three days ago. Elrohir had adhered to his father's edict for as long as his waning patience had deemed it acceptable—which had been exactly one day—the day _after_ he'd been allowed his escape from the Healing Halls. He'd been testy and surly for the entire time, having to lie abed and do nothing, but stare out into the valley. He'd dutifully eaten from the trays that Daeren brought to him for all of his meals, but he'd not had much appetite, and then, much to his exasperation, he'd fallen asleep that night, not even being able to stay awake to follow his dream paths. Elrohir _hated _being injured. He was easily the worst patient that Elrond had ever had to deal with. And the nightshade had had an interesting effect on his mind—it was making him feel as if he could conquer the world—yet he could not even conquer getting out of his bed.

The next day he'd woken with new resolve. He was going to do exactly what he pleased, when he pleased. It was just too bad that his body didn't seem to want to cooperate. So he'd spent the lion's share of it in bed—but by the afternoon he'd persuaded Jeren to join him.

That evening, he'd determinedly taken Jeren's hand and had escorted her to the Dining Hall. He'd seated her in her usual place and then had taken the chair that was his. His father's scowl did nothing to deter him. He ate what he wanted—which still wasn't much—and then after the meal was finished, he'd taken Jeren's arm and the two of them had retired to their room again.

Today had been better yet, but there was nothing that Jeren could do or say that would keep her husband in their bed chamber and quiet. He was determined that he wanted to go riding, out to the place he'd always gone to alone, when he was younger. He'd taken Jeren there last year, trying to lighten her mood over the injury to her arm. They'd been back to enjoy the shady, emerald green haven many times since. Yet Jeren was still aware of the paleness of Elrohir's skin, and try as she might, he would not be swayed to stay home and in bed.

Well… the 'in bed' part was not a difficult thing to persuade him about—as long as she joined him. But she couldn't see how what they'd been doing in that same bed could be considered a 'quiet' activity, even if Elrohir wasn't as 'vigorous' as he usually was. And more than once she'd made him wince, when she accidentally scraped her nails along the stitches in his back that still held his injury closed. His tumble into the gorge had caused damage to the arrow wound that had made surgery necessary.

Elrohir and Jeren had gone to the Dining Hall for both the noon and evening meals today, and tonight there was a small celebration in the Hall of Fire, commemorating the returning health of the twins. Elladan, too, was much better, although he tended not to laugh as much as others tried to make him do it.

Jeren was actually wearing a dress not unlike the one she wore in the dream she'd had the other day. It wasn't white, it was blue, and it had sleeves that draped just past her elbows. The familiar filmy material felt satiny next to her skin.

The dress had been Elrohir's request, and since he didn't make many of her, she'd agreed to wear it. She thought she looked fairly good in it, even for her. The gown made her seem feminine, which was hardly how anyone ever thought of her. It was hard to be feminine, when all one wore on a daily basis was a tunic, leggings, and boots, like one of the men.

There was quite a large crowd in the Hall of Fire, and everyone seemed to be having a merry time. It was the type of gathering she usually loved being a part of, and she would have been enjoying herself immensely—if not for her mood.

Her mood was one of uneasiness, as if she were waiting for some dire event to happen, she just didn't know when it would occur or what it would be. And the dream was preoccupying her day and night. She thought about it most of her waking hours, which were many, since she was having trouble sleeping as well. She didn't know why it should have such an effect on her, but it did, and she hadn't been able to banish it from her mind for long.

To make matters worse, as time went by, Elrohir's recollection of the dream had become hazier and hazier, until now he barely remembered any of the details at all. To her it seemed like a day she had lived, vivid in her mind, as if it had indeed been reality. Her obsession with it seemed absolute, and her fixation on it was beginning to make her feel distinctly crazy.

And what was she going to do when Elrohir didn't remember it at all? His mother had given them an important message: When strife and war beset the land, do not sit idly by. He did not remember the message now; as time went on, would he even remember his mother had been in the dream at all? How glad he'd been to see her so well and obviously happy? The joy of being reunited with her?

And what about the child?

The little girl had called her Nana—which was a casual form of the word 'Mother' in Elvish. Was there a child in her future? One she would conceive with Elrohir?

Had the entire dream been some unusual consequence of Elrond's healing sleep? If so, it had never happened before. Why would it happen now? Yes, the conditions were different than they usually were—he always laid his hands on her directly to put her to sleep. This time she'd been so close to Elrohir when Elrond had cast him into sleep that she'd been caught in it, too. Could that be the difference? Could that by why this dream had occurred in the first place, and was it just a natural consequence of the way events had unfolded?

So many questions, but no answers were forthcoming. And Elrohir, although he was trying not to, was becoming frustrated with her continually mentioning the dream which he could scarcely remember. He was beginning to look at her as if she might have come unhinged over the entire thing. It was something he no longer deemed significant, but which Jeren knew in her gut was of vital importance.

She needed someone to talk to—someone who would not think she was crazy. That might be a tricky endeavor—finding a person who could be made to believe that she had been in a dream with two other people—three, if you counted the little girl—and she'd not only visited Valinor, and Elrond's wife, but Celebrian had given her an important message—one meant for her and Elrohir—only Elrohir didn't remember it! Who would have the patience and understanding to listen to her, when what she had to say sounded like the raving of someone insane?

Lord Elrond. Yes… She would tell him. She remembered the details vividly, and when he understood the depth of her remembrance of it, he would be able to help her. If her obsession with it was just a product of the healing sleep, then perhaps he could accomplish chasing it from her mind.

She came to with a start, when Elrohir touched her elbow.

"You seemed a great distance away, Jeren," he said with concern, brushing a tendril of hair away from one of her eyes. He wasn't exactly frowning, yet it was obvious that he was unsettled by her lack of attention.

"I'm sorry, Elrohir," she said fretfully. "My heart doesn't seem to be in the Hall of Fire this evening."

"You usually enjoy it," he said. "Why not tonight? All is well in our lives; I'm fine; Elladan's fine. If not for missing the children, I would think there isn't much wrong for us at the present."

Jeren shook her head, disbelieving that she'd not thought once about the children since she'd awoken in the Healing Halls. That just put into perspective exactly how much the dream had her in its grip.

She did not retort with what had been her immediate thought: If he remembered the dream, he would not feel as if all was well. He would feel as she did—that nothing was quite as it should be.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Can you think of nothing else?" Jeren asked angrily, as she pulled away from Elrohir. She rubbed her fingers down the side of her neck, as if his kisses might have tickled her, annoying her as well. She walked outside onto their veranda, placing both hands on the top bar of the railing, and with her arms rigid, bowed her head and breathed deeply.

Elrohir stood there with a strange expression on his face, looking like she'd surprised him as she never had before—and perhaps she had. "You don't usually mind…" he said, drawing his brows together in puzzlement at her odd behavior. "In fact, you usually are very enthusiastic." He followed her outside.

"Well I'm not tonight, Elrohir," she said, and even though her words were stern, her tone had changed to a weary one.

They'd not stayed long in the Hall of Fire, since, regrettably, Elrohir had grown fatigued. Or so he had said… It hadn't mattered to Jeren, since she wasn't enjoying herself anyway. So they had come to their room, presumably, to ready themselves for sleep… But Elrohir had had other things on his mind.

Unfortunately, so had Jeren, but they were entirely different things.

He approached her warily, acting out an exaggered fear of what she might do next, trying to make her smile. He succeeded better than he thought he would, making her laugh. He approached her from behind and snuggled up to her back, his arms going around her waist.

"I am sorry, Elrohir," she said, as she turned in his embrace. "I seem to be saying that a lot lately…" She gave him a soft kiss on the lips.

He kissed her back, but didn't linger, since she'd been very clear that she had something on her mind that did not include romance. "What is wrong, Jeren?" he asked her softly. "You have not been truly present for the last few days. Something is keeping you from me, and I would know what it is."

"There're so many things, Elrohir," she said pensively. "Where should I start?"

"I find that the beginning is usually a good place," he answered.

"There is no beginning to these things," she answered. "They just are; and no matter what I wish, they are not going to go away."

He looked at her with concern then. "Tell me, Jeren," he insisted.

She glanced away, sure that if she looked into Elrohir's eyes that she'd weep. "For one thing, I am questioning my decisions—about our marriage."

He looked as if someone had punched him in the gut. "What do you mean? You cannot regret bonding with me…"

"No," she hastened to reassure him, finally looking into his eyes. Then the remark that Celebrian had said ghosted though her mind: '_My son has the look about him that tells me his love for you is boundless.' _And Jeren could see in Elrohir's eyes exactly what Celebrian had seen, and her regret only grew keener. She only hoped that her regret did not turn into resentment. "No, Elrohir. I love you more now than I ever have. What I am particularly thinking about right this minute is that I have finally reconciled within myself that I cannot remain a warrior and also be bonded to you."

She needed to pull herself together. She had meant to broach this subject sometime soon, but she'd had no intention of doing it now. He was not yet fully recuperated from his latest injury; she still didn't believe his thinking was as it should be. He had romance on his mind more than he ever had—even after they'd been freshly bonded.

On second thinking, she decided that there was no better time to bring this up after all. Both still sharply remembered the chase by the Wargs and she, in particular, would not forget that he'd only been injured because he'd feared for her safety.

She straightened her spine, calling all her determination to the fore. She did not want to weep during this conversation, for the subject saddened her more than anything else she could think of, other than losing her husband in a battle because he would not let her see to herself. Not only would it make her seem weak if she cried, but she did not want to have Elrohir think that what she was saying was only a ploy to play on his sympathies. No, she was completely serious about what she was telling him, and she did not intend to back down for any reason.

She took a few steps away from him, needing the space. But he would not allow her the freedom. He captured one of her wrists, and gently pulled her back so that she was standing in front of him. He smoothed her hair away from her face, as was his usual habit. "What has you speaking like this? I thought we were making progress in our scouting together. We had been, before we found the children."

"Well, that was before you again showed your complete lack of confidence in my ability to take care of myself on a field of battle!" she said, not meaning to shout, but doing so just the same.

Elrohir's eyes closed when he realized what she was talking about, and he didn't open them again until his hands were resting on her upper arms, as he tried to draw her in closer.

But she would not be drawn. Jeren didn't know why she noticed such a thing now, but she could not feel his hand on her right arm—the skin there seemed dead and always would seem so.

"You are right, Jeren," he said. "I was wrong when we were fleeing the Wargs. I should have worried about Elladan and me, instead of trying to look after you, too."

"And you almost paid for it with your life!" she said, her voice nearly a hiss it was so quiet. She could not help the tears that now fell down her cheeks. "I can see why you aided your brother—he was injured and he needed the help. But me? I was as healthy as I ever am, yet you must think me weak. I am a proficient warrior, but you cannot see it. Your determination to protect me has never waned. And I will not be responsible for your death, when you do such irresponsible things because you do not believe I can defend myself."

He tried to pull her close again, but she would not allow him to.

"We will talk about this another time—" he said, wanting her to cease her weeping, and knowing that continuing in this vein would only increase it.

"—no, we won't put this off, Elrohir. I have made the decision."

"I thought our marriage was based on us making decisions together."

"This is a decision I must make for the two of us," she said as she wiped at the tears with her fingers. "You—" she began, but had to pause, searching for the right words. "I know what you would say. You would say that you'll try harder. That you will learn. But you don't learn, Elrohir—or you can't. Some instinct seems to take over when it comes to me, and you cannot help yourself—you must try and protect me, even when it comes close to costing your very life. I love you too much to have you take that risk again."

He looked at her long and hard for several seconds, his face becoming more set with determination as the time ticked by. "I will not allow it," he finally said.

"You will not allow what?" she asked, his answer confusing her.

"I will not allow you to quit," he said.

"I don't see as how you have much say in the matter," Jeren retorted, beginning to get angry now.

"I will tell Glorfindel not to accept your resignation," he said, as if it were the most sensible thing he'd ever uttered, and something he would have absolutely no trouble accomplishing.

Without another word, Jeren walked quickly to the door of their room.

"Where are you going, Jeren?" he called after her.

"Someplace where I do not have to see or talk to you!" she shouted after herself, and she slammed the door on her way out.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren walked away from their room quickly, anger lending speed to her feet, taking her down the stairs to a destination she hadn't yet thought through. As she walked, her thoughts turned troubled again; well, more troubled, if that were possible.

She couldn't believe the turn her conversation with Elrohir had taken. The dream she'd had—with him in it—had been dominating her thoughts for more than two days, and so tonight—out of the blue—she'd started arguing with him about quitting as a warrior? Where had that come from? It was something they needed to discuss, but it had not been forefront in her mind at all. And how could she do as Celebrian had instructed, if she quit being a warrior now? _'Do not sit idly by as strife and war beset the land_.' Those had been the Elf Lady's words to her.

It was things of this nature that had made her doubly sure she must be losing her mind, ever since she'd awakened next to Elrohir in the Healing Halls.

When she came to Elrond's study door, she wasn't surprised by where she found herself. Even though she'd not had a clear idea of where she was going when she'd left her bed chamber, her feet had taken her where she needed to be. She knocked, believing that by now he'd have tired of the festivities and would have come back here to do some work. She knew she'd been right about his habits when he called for her to enter.

He was seated at his desk and he glanced up from the book he'd been thumbing through when she came into the room. His brow knit in confusion when he saw her.

"Is Elrohir all right?" he asked her.

She smiled wanly, noting that his first thoughts were for a son who had been at death's door just days ago. He was a parent, something she'd begun to understand much better, since she and Elrohir had taken care of Andis and Jessa.

"Yes, he is fine—and ornery as ever!" she said, as she plopped into one of the chairs in front of his desk.

He tried not to smile at her obvious pique, but the picture she painted as she'd stomped into the room and sat in a huff had not exactly matched the beautiful woman who was wearing a very becoming gown, and who was now sitting opposite him. Before him was a mixed picture—a beautiful woman with the soul of a soldier...

_Little did he know that that was one of the things on her mind…_

He finally permitted himself to smile as he sat back in his chair. "What has my ornery son done to call down your wrath upon him?"

"He will not allow me to quit."

Elrond looked at her with eyes alight with the same sort of mischief his errant son was apt to use on her. "That does not sound to me like an 'ornery' trait at all, but one to be admired."

Jeren shook her head as she rose from the chair. "No, no, I'm explaining it all wrong." Her frustration rang out from her words as she got up and approached the windows behind his desk, even though it was dark, and all she could see were the lighted walkways below. "Father, something strange happened to me when I was asleep with Elrohir—when he was so sick from the poison. And it has my entire life in upheaval. I was wondering if you might help me sort it all out."

He got up from his chair then and approached her slowly. "Of course; I'll do whatever I can. Perhaps—if you could explain it a little better, I might know exactly what I am working with."

"When you put Elrohir into one of your healing sleeps, I slept, too, just as you told me I would. But I didn't just sleep. Well, it didn't seem _as if_ I was asleep, frankly."

"It didn't?" he asked, his brows coming together to show his confusion.

"No, it didn't," she affirmed. "I know you would call it a dream I was having, but it seemed so real, Father; as if it were another day in my life. I can remember every detail, like I'd been there in the flesh, and not just in a dream. Elrohir was in it, and at the time, he acknowledged that we were having the same dream. Now he doesn't really remember it, even though he is the one who mentioned it first after we woke up."

"Wait," he said, holding one of his hands up as if he needed to physically stop her. "You are trying to tell me that you _shared_ a dream with Elrohir?"

"Yes!" she said excitedly, happy that he was understanding her, at least.

"Elves do not generally dream," he said rationally, walking away from her. "Well, not as Humans do, anyway," he clarified. "We are in complete control of them. We decide what we will dream about. There is no mystery to it for us, nor is it under anyone's command but our own. And you are telling me now that Elrohir was actually dreaming a dream he had no control over, and that you were having the same one as he was—and at the same time?"

"Yes!" she said, even more enthusiastically than she had before. "And you know he was doing so before you even put him into your healing sleep. He was dreaming of Orcs attacking me, and all he could do was watch. So it isn't so far-fetched that he had a dream—a true dream—while under one of your sleeps, is it?" She gazed at him with eager eyes—eyes that begged for him to believe her.

"Well, no; I suppose one could draw that conclusion," he said in precarious agreement. "Especially when we add the effects of the two poisons he had been exposed to. But I felt as if he were having hallucinations, not dreams." He walked to where she was standing, his stare drilling into hers. "But the fact that you both had the same one—whether dream or hallucination—and at the same time—is a very far stretch, Jeren."

Her face fell then, as if all the ground she had gained had somehow been retracted, and she was right back where she'd been when she'd started. But then she had an idea. "But what if we had the same dream because I connected with him within our marriage bond? Mayhap we were so connected we couldn't help but have the same dream!"

Elrond's face looked as if he were considering it, but when he spoke, she wasn't sure she'd won him over at all. To her it was simple logic, but she wasn't sure he would agree.

"Tell me about this dream," he said.

Hoping to regain some momentum, she said, "We were in Valinor."

"Valinor?" he asked as if surprised.

He seemed to already be disbelieving, thinking that what she was describing could not possibly be more than just an elaborate dream somehow brought on by her close proximity to Elrohir while he was in the throes of a poison-induced hallucination.

"Yes," she said emphatically. "And your Lady Wife was there."

"Celebrian?" he said, his voice sounding even more skeptical.

Jeren could hear the bald surprise in his voice, when she'd brought up the wife he'd not seen in ages.

Ever the one to try and make sense out of nonsense, he said, "That could be explained by the fact that I mentioned her to you slightly more than an hour before I put you and Elrohir to sleep. It could have been the suggestion I planted that made you dream of her. You've seen her portraits many times. Her image is very familiar to you."

"Yes, it is," she agreed, but her face and her voice were filled with high frustration. "Please listen to me, Father," she said, but her tone had changed, holding a plea instead of complete irritation. "Please believe me. It was real. She was there. Elrohir's mother; your wife. Lady Celebrian was in the dream. She was beautiful and healthy! She was no longer ill in any way." She paused before she told him the thing she was most concerned about—the thing she needed him to believe more than anything else she'd already said. "And she gave Elrohir and me a message."

Elrond shook his head and walked away, his face looking as if he had suddenly been thrust into mourning.

"Tell me no more, Jeren," he said. "You had a dream. I believe that. But that's all that is was—a dream."

"Father, please," she begged. "Please? Will you hear me out?"

He looked at her then, and she could see the pain in his eyes—pain brought on by her words. But she knew if he'd listen, he'd be relieved and heartened by what she had to tell him—at least about his wife's health. _If_ he believed her. But she also knew if he didn't think it was true, then the part about war and strife—the part she really needed help with—he would definitely not believe either…"

She decided to concentrate on Celebrian; make him believe she was actually in the Elf Lady's presence. "Your wife is breathtaking… She looks strikingly similar to Lady Galadriel... She wore a beautiful dress of green, and her hair is a shade of gold that an artist would have difficulty replicating. Her skin is flawless, and she's tall and slim.

"—And the pendant she wore! I've never seen a more beautiful piece of jewelry, my lord Father! It was of gold and on a golden chain so fine, I would have had it torn asunder the very first time I had attempted to wear such a thing. Two hearts entwining. It was indeed the finest gold work I've ever had the pleasure of gazing upon."

His eyes had sought hers at the mention of the jewel, and as she'd described it, he came closer and closer to her, until now he was standing right before her. The directness of his stare was enough to unnerve her, but she did not look away.

After several seconds of gazing unblinking at one another, he finally glanced down, but then looked back at her, his expression filled with doubt. "Has Elrohir ever described that pendant to you?" he asked.

"No, my lord. The dream was the first time I ever knew of its existence. I swear to you on my life, Father."

He glanced away then, and walked toward the windows again. "I gave Celebrian that pendant the night we said goodbye, here in the house. She and I had our evening meal in private that night, and afterward is when I gave her the gift. She did not wear it at all; she barely acknowledged I'd given her anything. She put it back into its box and had someone stow it with the things she was taking with her. I never saw her wear it, and to my knowledge, none of my children know of it, either."

"So your question—was a test?" she asked, trying to keep the hurt from her tone. "When you asked me if Elrohir had told me about it?"

He had the grace to look contrite, but he did not voice an apology. "I suppose it might have been," he finally said, "I knew you wouldn't lie to me, so I felt compelled to ask. I do not think that any of them knew about the gift I'd given their mother, but you know how it can be in a family—something you think is secret, isn't necessarily so. And it wasn't a secret as such—only extremely private—between my wife and me. But you didn't even hesitate at the question—didn't have to think about it at all. So I knew then that it was a secret still. Or, at least, it had been…"

He walked away from her, his hands clasped behind him, looking as if he were contemplating exactly what to do next. Here he had proof that Jeren had indeed at the very least had a vision of Celebrian and Valinor. Her descriptions had been perfect, as if she herself had been there witnessing everything she'd seen. And no one else in the family knew of the pendant but he and Celebrian.

He knew how impossible this was, yet he had to admit she was Dúnedain, and as such, could very well be subject to foresight. Aragorn was, but not all of that clan had been gifted in this way. Only a chosen few. Perhaps that is what she experienced. But no, that could not be, if she was also claiming that Elrohir had also had the experience—whatever it was—only now he was unable to recall it.

He turned back to face her. "I realize that you haven't explained anything to me yet—not what your argument with Elrohir was about; how the dream unfolded. Yet I find myself extremely tired and having difficulty processing the information you have given me so far."

He looked at her with his troubled eyes, and Jeren wanted to weep at her guilt for making him feel this way. But she needed his help. Elrohir no longer remembered the dream so that he could satisfy his mother's decree, and she could not fulfill Celebrian's command without Elrond's aid. Either he must help her figure out how do it alone, or he had to get Elrohir to remember it somehow.

"Will you meet me here tomorrow, before morning meal, so that you can complete your explanation and tell me what exactly you need from me?"

"You believe what I am telling you then?" she asked eagerly.

He hesitated for mere seconds, before he answered. "I believe something strange occurred during your sleep in the Healing Halls with my son. Just exactly what that strange occurrence was, I still need time to contemplate."

Jeren nodded her head, suddenly unable to speak. _He believed her! She just knew he would think about it, and then determine she was telling exactly the truth._ Knowing this was such a relief! She hurried over to him, hugging him tightly.

He seemed surprised by her action at first, but he quickly returned her embrace. He gently disengaged from her. "Tomorrow, then?" he asked her quietly.

"Yes, Father. Tomorrow," she said. She started to leave, but then turned back. "You do not know what it means to me—knowing that you believe me. I knew when I came in here that convincing you would be a tall order. But I also knew that if anyone would find honesty in what I came to impart, it would be you. Thank you, Father."

He smiled a little wanly at her, as if he were still unable to suppress the pain that had arisen in his heart by the mention of his wife—that someone had seen her; talked to her—and it hadn't been him...

"Thank you for telling me about this, daughter, and for showing such trust in me. I will give it all a great deal of thought, and then I will see you on the morrow."

Jeren nodded again and left him to think—as well as to deal with his grief.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**A/N: This chapter was a doozy to write! It's so long... Many thanks for the valuable input to this chapter from Sadie Sil. She is the best friend a writer can have! She is the best friend a person can have, period! **

**I think there will be one more chapter to this story; that is, if I can keep a good strangle hold on my writer's pen. This story is much longer than I ever planned for it to be, and I think it's time to put this one to bed.**

**Many thanks to any and all reviewers. They keep me going when the writing gets hard.  
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	43. Chapter 43

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

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Jeren wandered aimlessly through the halls of the house after leaving Elrond's study, not yet ready to go back to her own room and take up the fight with Elrohir again. No, that could wait. She hated that so soon after he'd been so close to death they were already at odds with each other, but it was simply a fact—they were.

All things considered, they rarely fought these days. They were very compatible, in spite of some very key problems they faced. Being of two different races, as well as being vastly different in age and experience, did not, as a rule, lend itself easily to amity in a relationship. But even when taking those things into account they got on well—except on one certain subject… Jeren being a warrior.

She shoved that subject out of her mind for the moment. Right now she had to think about her visit to the Elf lord. As she pondered their conversation, she continued her meandering walk through the corridors of The Last Homely House.

Yes, she had lots to think about, even though her mind was calmer now than it had been at all during the past few days—before she'd spoken to her father-in-law. Sometimes she wished she'd never had the dream at all, or that she had been like Elrohir and had forgotten it completely. Feeling ashamed of herself for wishing for an easy way out, she inwardly chastised herself. Yet knowing at last that Elrond was probably going to help her was a very calming thought.

When she'd found herself at Elrond's study door, she'd not had a clear notion as to why she had gone there in the first place. But now it was as clear as it could be—she needed his help to reach Elrohir.

As she thought about the problem she faced, she knew what had to be accomplished. She knew without doubt that trying to fulfill Celebrian's message without Elrohir by her side was futile, and had not been the point of the dream at all. He had been with her in Valinor for a reason, and not just so that he could be reunited with his mother.

Yet she couldn't get over the nagging sensation; the thought that all the feelings she kept having about the dream seemed to be telling her that it was _she_ that it had been aimed at. But since Elrohir did not even remember it now, the question truly was should she even try to get him to remember it at all?

Like it or not, she was sure about one thing: This mission—or whatever it ultimately turned out to be—would involve fighting, and Elrohir couldn't help but watch out for her during battles. That had been proved without doubt after his latest injury, but how could they do this together if he would not allow her to participate fully?

She knew that he had to be included in whatever she eventually set out to do, and whether she thought it wise or even plausible for him to be with her, he would most likely be fighting beside her when they fulfilled Celebrian's bidding. She was doubtful that one could address 'strife and war' without drawing one's sword.

She shook her head, knowing that she could not exclude Elrohir in any case. It was a very clear fact that he would never allow her to go off on her own for some mysterious dream mission. No, that would never happen. Even if she drugged him or in some other way rendered him unconscious so that she could go out alone, he would still be bent on following her and the results would be the same—he'd feel the need to guard her every move. And even if she wanted to, she could not alter the facts: Celebrian had been speaking to them both—directly.

She'd told Elrohir she was going to quit the Imladris force. Perhaps she would have to anyway, in order to do this thing that Celebrian had mentioned. if Glorfindel did not sanction her actions, she would have to quit the force and go out on her own. So regardless of the words she'd hurled at Elrohir—and he'd hurled back—those words just might be proved prophetic in the end.

And here she was, thinking about the fight she'd had with Elrohir again. And then it suddenly struck her that this whole mess was tied together—no wonder she'd brought it up to Elrohir this evening. What they'd both just gone through with his poisoned wound was a direct result of him being unable to fight alongside her without trying to look out for her. And how could either of them fulfill Celebrian's task if he continued to act this way?

She wondered fleetingly why it was all so important. Why did the dream feel as if it held a life and death meaning to her personally? She couldn't even hazard a guess. She had no idea why it seemed so vital that she not only follow through on the Elf lady's message, but somehow succeed beyond her wildest dreams.

But succeed at what?

Again she felt as if she were going insane…

She shook it off again. Giving in to that line of thought led nowhere, and since she could not banish the idea that this 'quest', for lack of a better word, was so direly important, she had to let go of her feelings that this entire thing was crazy. She focused herself again.

If either one of them—Elrohir or Elrond—did not first consent to help her in the ways that each could, and then be successful at doing their part, she could not go forward at all. The Elf lord would have to understand—really see—that she was entirely lucid and that what she'd learned from the dream was very important. And Elrohir _had_ to remember it—there was just no other way. And after he did, then he must somehow learn to treat her as just another fighter when they had chance to draw swords together.

But she wondered if Elrond would go so far as to try using his mind healing on Elrohir again, resurrecting his son's memory of the dream, which he'd all but forgotten. Conversely, she wondered if Elrohir would even allow him to do it.

She then realized that she hadn't yet relayed the crux of Celebrian's directive to Lord Elrond. She'd told him she'd received a message from his wife, but she'd gotten distracted before she'd actually told him the gist of it. She wondered what he would think of it when she did. Would he fight against her intention to get caught up in this 'strife and war'? Would he involve Glorfindel and the Imladris force in it? Or would he think that this message was just another product of an overactive imagination?

She was suddenly aware of the cool night breeze on her face, and that made her finally take note of her surroundings. She was outside, walking on the very paths that she'd seen as she'd looked out the windows from Lord Elrond's study earlier. She glanced up at the windows marking the room and watched as the light there faded, as he put out the lamp and left to go to his bedchamber. She continued her walk, her feet taking her to the porch just outside the Hall of Fire.

She was very thankful for the temperate weather of the past few days. Since it was getting on toward Yule in a few short weeks, it should have been much cooler by this time of year. And while it was known to snow on occasion in Rivendell, for the most part the winters here were usually mild, and it looked as if this one would be so, too.

She leaned her hips against the banister there, and rested her hands on the rail to either side of her. She gazed through the open arches that led into the place where merriment and music were often enjoyed by the inhabitants of Imladris. At any given time, that would include the Elves who made their homes here, as well as carefully admitted visitors—Humans in the form dignitaries, as it were—from near and distant villages, as well as cities and towns, who might have come to consult with Elrond about commerce or trade, or who were seeking a possible cure for an illness plaguing their people. Also Elves from the Woodland Realm were quite often guests in Imladris, usually messengers bearing missives of import from Thranduil their king. And of course there were the visitors from Lothlorien on occasion, although Jeren had never been in residence when the Elves of that land had been here.

The Elves of Rivendell didn't generally have goods to trade, but they did buy several of the things used in Imladris from the Human merchants if they could, allowing the Men to find their way to the valley, crossing the river and gaining access to the sanctuary. Rarely, when they wished to pass the borders at all, Dwarves were afforded the same access, and they brought any ironwork they might have with them to barter or sell.

Tonight there weren't any others here, only the usual Elves, and of course the Hobbit. From Jeren's vantage point she could see Bilbo, as he recited something to an appreciative audience.

She smiled, wondering what Bilbo could be saying. Was he performing a verse he'd written, or mayhap telling a story of one of his adventures? Her smile faded a little, as she thought of the day, so long ago now, that she'd been sitting outside the library nursing her injured arm and had seen Aragorn and Bilbo talking animatedly with one another, seated on a low wall near the garden where she sat.

Aragorn, the Dúnedain Chieftain, had been gone for more than a year now. It surprised her to think that she actually missed him, and she wondered when he had become so important to her. She supposed it might have something to do with her bond with Elrohir—mayhap his concern for his Human brother was coming through to her in their bond. Yet she'd grown somewhat closer to the Chieftain herself before he'd gone on his errand for Gandalf. They'd spent many hours together while his broken ankle healed, and he'd taught her several valuable lessons about war strategies. She thought that must have been when she'd lowered her guard and had admitted to herself that he was more than just the Chieftain to her. At some point he'd become rather a friend as well.

Whatever the reason, it bothered her that they'd had no word of him. Well, she supposed there had been no word from him. If there had been, she'd certainly not been privy to the information.

She was startled when someone tapped her on the arm, jumping and suddenly standing up straight. Then she turned her face toward the intruder and saw Bandorion right beside her.

_Drat Elves and their silent feet!_

She frowned at him, not particularly caring why he was touching her, only wanting him to go away. He'd always been so spiteful to her, that now she truly disliked him, and their last encounter had left a very bad taste in her mouth.

"My _Lady_," he said, bowing slightly.

Jeren's frown grew deeper. _So now he felt the need to make fun of her?_

She drew in her temper, relaxing her brow, deciding that fighting with him—especially here, right in front of the Hall of Fire—was not a good idea. She was dressed as a lady tonight, in a very attractive gown, which lent more credence to the thought that Bandorion was probably jesting at her expense.

She knew she wasn't beautiful, even though the gown she was wearing did a respectable job of dressing her up, but must Bandorion ridicule her to her face? She was plain and always would be and was tall for a woman and skinny as well. She was always more at home, and more importantly, felt more like herself, in a tunic and a pair of leggings.

A part of her wanted to rip into him as she inwardly seethed, but as the seconds ticked by, she coaxed herself to relax even more. She made a firm choice then, as she often did when dealing with Elves, especially ones who felt they had a right to command her, and decided that simple courtesy would be her response.

"Bandorion," she said, acknowledging his greeting tersely, though far from angrily.

"I would have a word with you," he said, as if it were his right to take her time, Jeren thought.

"I wouldn't actually appreciate a conversation right now," she said, and she relaxed, leaning against the railing, pretending to gaze into the Hall of Fire again. She promised herself she wouldn't look at him, even though she was dying to see if she'd made him angry with her hasty dismissal.

But, as if he'd not heard her comment at all, he simply went on. "It has come to my attention that I owe you an apology, My Lady. So I wish to tender it now. I am sorry if I offended you the other evening at the border. It was not my intent to do so."

Jeren wanted to laugh in his face—it was not his intent to offend her? He—as well as everyone involved at the time—knew that was exactly his intent!

She had been trying not to look at the Elf at all, but she found her eyes straying toward him, since her incredulity at hearing his words made it impossible to act as if she were ignoring him.

"I was merely following procedure when dealing with a soldier in the Imladris Force," he continued, and yes, his justifying air rose up between them, as he allowed a small bit of arrogant hesitancy to seep into his tone. He cleared his throat, in an obvious attempt at trying to get his next words out quickly. "It was my mistake. You can be assured it will never happen again."

As she'd listened to him speak, and his words were registering in her mind, she slowly stood up straight again and looked at him. However unlikely and totally unexpected the possibility had been, he _had_ apologized. Still, it irked her that he'd felt the need to be defensive about it, so she knew his remorse was shallow indeed. She had clearly heard the reluctance in his voice.

Instead of waiting for her to reply, which would have been a very long wait since her jaw had dropped open at her utter astonishment, he bowed slightly again and went on his way. She watched his retreating form as he walked into the Hall of Fire, wondering what the world might be coming to when Bandorion apologized to anyone—especially a Human—and a woman at that.

Before she was even partially recovered from Bandorion's strange apology, Glorfindel strode up to her, walking from the direction that she'd come from a little while ago. She had barely enough time to wonder if he'd also been in Lord Elrond's study prior to now, because he began speaking even before he was completely stopped beside her.

"I think I saw Bandorion just leave you…"

He'd left the statement hanging, as if he required an answer from her.

She nodded her head, still too astounded to speak.

Glorfindel smiled, and, placing a finger under her chin, said, "You really should close your mouth, Jeren. It makes you look simple-minded to leave it gaping this way."

She jerked her chin out of his grasp as she shot a perturbed look at him—as perturbed as she dared, since he was such an important Elf in Imladris and was in command of her regardless. She then paused for a moment before she spoke, because at times it still jarred her when he used her given name instead of just calling her _Girl _as he had before_._

"I cannot make sense of Bandorion speaking to me at all," Jeren started uncertainly, her bewilderment obvious. "At first I thought he was simply making fun of me, but now, I'm not so sure."

"He had better not have been making fun," he said, his eyes boring into hers. "That would negate any good he might have accomplished by apologizing in the first place."

"How did you know he apologized?" she blurted, but before he could even respond she knew the answer. "You told him to!" She had to curb her anger, again remembering to whom she spoke. "Why would you do that, Lord Glorfindel?"

"Well someone must. In my role as Arms Master it is my duty to see that the soldiers in my command behave properly at all times. Protocol demanded that I speak to him—and also to you."

Jeren's brows knitted together. "I don't understand."

"And therein lies the problem," Glorfindel said, his velvet steel voice so solemn that it made her take notice of it at once.

"In their reports to me about the incident involving you at the border the other night, Faeron and Andaer revealed that Bandorion treated you churlishly."

She looked at him as if he'd taken leave of his sanity, letting him know by her expression that she was greatly offended by his words. She needed no one to fight her battles for her—not Faeron or Andaer—but especially not the Arms Master.

"He treated me no differently than he ever treats any Human," she said with fire in her eyes.

While she disliked Bandorion as much or more than she'd ever disliked anyone else in her life, in her view fair was fair, regardless of how he had treated her. As far as she was concerned, Bandorion, while not at all the friendly sort when it came to her, had only been doing his job.

"Again," Glorfindel said, "the fact that you defend him at all proves there is a problem."

Jeren shook her head slowly. "I still do not understand. Bandorion treated me the same way he always has before. If it weren't for the fact that I did not want to leave Elrohir's side, it wouldn't have bothered me at all."

"And when did you have dealings with Bandorion before?" Glorfindel asked, as if he were baiting her, his face showing he was skeptical she would even catch on.

And in answer to his doubt, her next comment showed that she did not seem to see he had been leading her somewhere, but she was starting to sound defensive.

"When I was training," she said, "five or six years ago."

"A good length of time before you and Elrohir bonded," he said, again sounding as if he were testing her and finding her lacking. He looked at her as if he suspected he would have to spell out for her something that should have been thoroughly obvious to most people.

But in all fairness to her, she rarely spoke to Glorfindel about anything other than training or scouting. Not only was she wary about having this particular conversation with him, she was also trying to anticipate what his motives might be and was making no headway in that regard.

"Yes, my dealings with Bandorion were several years before I even suspected that Elrohir and I would ever be together," she replied, and her voice had hardened with anger at his insistence.

He all but rolled his eyes at her, but it was obvious when he spoke his next words that he had decided he would just have to tell her what he was getting at. "When you bonded with Elrohir," he explained, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice, "you became part of Elrond's family. As such, you should be shown the highest regard at all times. Bandorion did not do that the other evening at the border, and he had every reason to expect the reprimand he received from me. I do not know what possessed him to try and get away with such blatant misconduct."

"But Bandorion was right in commanding me; I was acting as part of the force," she said, her expression showing her disagreement plainly. "I was not acting as part of Elrohir's family at the time."

"Weren't you?" he asked, his exasperation plainly visible now. "You were bringing your wounded husband home to be tended to by his father. In what way is that _not_ acting as part of the family?" He shook his head slightly. "You allowed Bandorion to intimidate you into believing he was in command of the situation, when in reality you were, as Elrohir's wife." He continued to gaze into her eyes, even as he changed his mind and began taking another path.

"I would venture a guess that Faeron and Andaer treated you with the utmost respect, did they not?"

"Well… yes… they did," she said tentatively. "But Bandorion had put me in charge of the search for Elladan."

"Did he now?" Glorfindel asked, as if again he thought she might be acting dimwitted on purpose. "And you believe that the other two demonstrated regard to you merely because you were leading the search?" He stopped and sighed, looking away, as if he were seeking the wisdom that had somehow escaped this woman's head. "Faeron also told me that you'd given explicit directions as to Elladan's whereabouts. There was no need for a search party. True?"

Jeren looked at the ground at her feet and nodded her head, as if she might suddenly be seeing Glorfindel's point.

"And when you mentioned that you were Elrohir's wife, Bandorion disregarded that information as irrelevant and in a very rude manner," he said, pausing slightly, as if he might be waiting for her to answer.

But she said nothing; she just continued to seem fascinated by the toes of her slippers.

Glorfindel leaned against the banister then, crossing his arms over his chest. "Faeron and Andaer were showing you the respect due you as Elrohir's wife; they know Elrond's family deserves favor, merely by virtue of who they are. They know that absolutely; and it quite frankly astounds me that you do not. You are a part of this family now, and as such, should expect others to treat you as Elrond and his sons are treated—whatever the situation."

"Just because of my association with Elrohir?" she quickly shot back, her tone a disbelieving one.

"_Yes_," he replied forcefully, "as well as because of your association with the Lord of Imladris! You are his daughter now." He looked as though he could not believe her ignorance, and his voice was full of barely controlled irritation.

She walked a few paces away, thinking about what the Arms Master had told her. Turning back to him she said, her voice very serious, "I've always believed that any respect I received from anyone at any time had to be earned and not just given me 'by association'," she said.

"Elrond, first and foremost, has earned the right to admiration by all—and the twins themselves have also earned it by now," Glorfindel said. "You have no reason to earn it. It has been earned for you."

"I don't operate in that fashion, my Lord Glorfindel!" Jeren said haughtily, even though it was outrage and not ego that colored her tone. "Any respect I have a right to receive, I only want because I have won it for myself!"

"And that is a very good tribute to your upbringing," Glorfindel admitted. "But in this case, it means nothing. I believe the term is called 'nobility' by your race. This family has that," he said, sounding like he was explaining something to a child. "As part of Elrohir's family, you should never take discourtesy from anyone for any reason, and by every account I've heard about the incident at the border, Bandorion slighted you on all fronts—as a Human, as a female, but especially as a member of this household."

He approached her slowly, and Jeren wondered if the dimness of the porch was playing tricks with the way she was seeing Glorfindel's expression, for he'd begun to look strangely more like a mentor than the commander he'd always been to her. He stopped right beside her, and looking into her eyes, he allowed the fingers of one hand to trail the scar that circled her right arm, which was clearly visible through the delicate fabric of the sleeve of her dress. "But more importantly," he said, "just by the merit you have earned on your own, you should have enough regard for yourself that you would turn away the Bandorions in your life, who demean you because you allow them to."

Her eyes strayed to his fingers as they now circled her upper arm, right around the scar. She knew he was making some sort of point, but could not for the life of her figure out exactly what it was. Oh she heard what he was saying well enough, but was having a difficult time reconciling his meaning with the complicated position she was in. She was a warrior—a scout—one of the lesser ranks of the Imladris force; how could she be expected to not follow orders from a superior officer, whether they were given civilly or not, as well as demand esteem because she was Elrohir's wife?

When she'd been a ranger, she'd had conversations such as this one with Aragorn, but he'd been entirely on the other side of the argument. How many times had he told her she was a mere ranger and not an officer—that she should keep her opinions to herself? That she must follow rank? She was finding it very hard to even consider changing the way she'd always behaved in order to behave differently—the way Glorfindel was telling her she needed to behave now.

"Lord Glorfindel, it is with great humility that I ask this—how can I be a scout, an underling to a commander, and still expect them to treat me above others?"

"That would be a call of judgment on your part. You could have had respect for yourself the other evening with Bandorion at the border, and done whatever you saw fit to do at the time, regardless of his orders. If he objected, he could then have taken it up with me, if he felt discipline was in line. Then I would have looked into the situation and would have acted accordingly, which in this case called for no discipline, because you were acting as part of the family, whether you will admit that to yourself or not. I still would have chastised him, because he did not show the respect to you that you were due.

"You are no longer a mere soldier here, Jeren, even though that is how you would like it to be. If that were the case, it would be less difficult for you certainly; you would not have to reach beyond what makes you comfortable."

His hand tightened almost imperceptibly on her arm, bringing her back to wondering what her prior injury had to do with anything at all. But she had not long to wait for Glorfindel to explain himself.

"Although it is available to you, you have no need to ride the wave of respect that has been earned by Elrond and his sons. You have already earned the regard of all here, Jeren; you are just having trouble seeing it. To you, having your arm nearly hacked off by an Orc must seem more of a failure than the success it has really been." His hand fell away from her limb to rest at his side.

"You fought your way back from a devastating injury—" he started, but kept right on going past her protesting. "—yes, there was a short time you took for mourning that held you back at first."

Jeren had closed her mouth and was now listening to him.

"Originally I didn't see it; it took Elrond's prodding for me to understand what was truly happening with you. I failed you there, Jeren. I thought you were merely feeling sorry for yourself. Yes, there might have been some of that there, as would be a natural reaction for any warrior in the same situation. But I have since been told that you were mourning for someone—someone you felt responsible for—and someone you felt that you'd ultimately failed."

Jeren couldn't help the sudden tears that sprung to her eyes at the memory of Haleth, and the horrible time after her injury, when she couldn't get the dead girl out of her mind. Even still, she vaguely wondered who had told Glorfindel such a thing.

She averted her gaze before she answered him, hoping that she wouldn't do the unthinkable thing and weep. "Yes, I behaved badly at that time—I was not due any respect at all."

"And you certainly got none from me!" he said, and she was stunned when he smiled. "I made you earn back any respect I might have had for you at the time, which I admit, was little. I thought you were a stubborn girl used to getting her way, who only wanted to prove she could be a soldier, but if she did finally succeed, would then go away to be stubborn about something else.

"Yet you proved your mettle after your injury. Everyone here—me included—but most importantly your comrades in arms, with the possible exception of Bandorion, respects you for all you have accomplished thus far. I believe that you truly wanted to be a warrior all along—that you _are_ a warrior at heart. I admire that you held fast to your dream of being a ranger with your people, even though it seemed unattainable."

He placed his hands on her arms, making sure he had her attention, and when he spoke again, it was with a kindness that she never dreamed he would ever direct toward her. "It is unusual for a woman to have a soldier's heart. Yet you've resisted the customs of your people—risked the wrath of your father—to fulfill your life's ambition. What I took for stubbornness in you was really a sturdy spine." He let go of her arms and leaned against the porch railing again. "But what I will never understand is why you allow Elrohir to dictate your life now…"

His face held a puzzled expression for just a moment, but even with that pause, she was too flustered to answer.

"Perhaps since I have never bonded I can't understand…" With a tiny shake of his head, he went on, "But I digress…

"It would be to your benefit if you would listen closely to what I am telling you. It is _you_ that must be convinced now that you are worthy of regard from everyone. You have proved yourself beyond doubt—but _you _must believe it."

They stood in silence together, both leaning against the railing on the porch outside the Hall of Fire. But eventually, Jeren couldn't help but ask him, "Why are you paying all this attention to me? Why do you care about the role I have acquired in this family?"

"I've watched you for years, Jeren, but I did not make comment because I felt as if it wasn't my place. But now is different. You are a part of this family, even as I count myself part of it, though I have no common blood with Elrond or his children. I feel not only justified in stating the obvious, but also compelled.

"When you came here as a child, you had little self-respect. I blame Anardil for that—too much discipline and not enough praise from him."

Jeren started to protest, as she always did when someone had anything negative to say about her father, but Glorfindel waved her to silence and went on. "I admit fault in this area myself, for I never praised your efforts, either. But you had Elrond for that, as well as trainers, and they all did so, for the little good it did them where you were concerned. You have always been too quick to blame yourself, not quick enough to give yourself credit when it is deserved. And lack of self-respect is a negative thing, Jeren. That lack could show itself in a shortage of confidence at the least convenient time, which is not a trait a commander finds desirable in his warriors. That gets soldiers killed. Yet that is but one of the reasons I am addressing your role in this family."

He paused for a moment. "I veer from another subject I mean to address, yet it is all related; the second reason I care about your new position in the household is your responsibility on the family's behalf."

He faced her then, leaning a hip against the porch's railing. "It is time that you take up the mantle of your station here in Rivendell. There has been no 'Lady of Imladris' for a very long while, and now it is up to you to fulfill that role." He looked at her appraisingly for several seconds, and then he added, "And you cannot be convincing in that position if you do not believe you deserve it."

Jeren's eyes grew wide as she tried but failed to hide her surprise. "Me?" she asked in a derisive tone. "The Lady of Imladris?" She smiled, while she really felt like laughing hysterically. "Rivendell has done quite well since Lady Celebrian's departure. Why would there be need for a Lady to hold court at this late hour ?"

"There are reasons… Things are occurring that I've witnessed before. There are clues telling me that there will be an opportunity—soon, I think—for you to act in such a capacity, since there is no other lady in residence." He looked at her to see if she understood. "It truly is not my place to tell you this, but I do not know when anyone else will step forward and tell you what you need to know, and I would have you unsurprised."

She stood up straight again, appalled by what he'd just said. "I am no hostess! No Lady of any House! I am a soldier! You just said so yourself. I know nothing of etiquette or attention to domestic details." Her frightened eyes sought his. "What am I going to do?" Then her brows descended over eyes that had turned angry. "Why didn't Elrohir tell me of this _supposed_ opportunity you know of?"

"Because even I do not truly know of it yet, so _he_ certainly does not," he replied, as if it were the most reasonable statement he'd made thus far, and not the oblique declaration it truly was.

"Now you are talking in the riddles of Elves!" she said, hopeful he was still in the proper mood for her to be blunt with him.

"Then I will try to explain," he said, a small smile playing around his lips. "Over millennia Elves live their lives, and as time passes—great deals of time—patterns emerge from which one can determine how events might unfold."

Jeren thought back to Elrond explaining this in exactly the same way. It gave her heart that she just might understand what Glorfindel could be talking about.

"Like anyone—an Elf learns that when one thing happens repeatedly, the results are likely to be the same after a pattern has been proved. I have been living here with Elrond and his family for a very long while, and I have watched the Lord of Imladris closely, and I have come to know when things are going to change. Whether he is even aware of it or not, he begins to do things in preparation of events. He has the gift of foresight, and sometimes it catches even him unaware. I don't know if that is what is happening now, but he is preparing the house for visitors. And in the same vein, I've also learned over time when to question him and when I should keep my own counsel. Therefore, I have not asked him for any explanations thus far.

"So no one has told you," Glorfindel admitted, "because no one—including me—knows exactly what is going to happen or when. But if it happens, it will include dignitaries from foreign lands, and if you are indeed in residence when it does, your presence as the Lady of Imladris will be required."

Jeren turned around to face the bannister and put a palm on the top of the stone railing. Leaning over slightly, she kneaded her brow with the fingers of her other hand. "How am I supposed to know anything about any of this?" She glanced up at the Arms Master, her eyes peeking out from between her fingers and her voice pleading, "Again, I ask you, what am I going to do?"

"Seek out Naith and ask discreetly if she knows of any planning that is occurring. If not, then just be curious—ask her questions. She will tell you everything you need to know. And when the opportunity arises—and it will—I will get the facts from the Lord of Imladris myself, if he is not forthcoming with the information quickly enough to suit me."

"What about Arwen? She could do it!" Jeren said excitedly as she straightened up again. Her face showed relief the moment she'd finally remembered there was still a Lady of Imladris in Middle-earth.

"Do you see her here?" Glorfindel asked her, with not a little sarcasm. "No, she lives in Lothlorien now and not likely to darken the halls of this house anytime soon." He shook his head. "I'm only trying to save you some trouble."

His commander's expression firmly set now, he watched what looked to be fear again play across her face. He leaned forward, as if he were about to tell her a secret, and in a barely audible voice he said, "Do not tell me that the woman who had only full use of one of her arms when she fought hand to hand with an Orc—and won—is frightened of a little domesticity."

He straightened up, looking at her so intently it was all she could do not to avert her eyes. Without saying another word, Glorfindel walked away, heading in the direction of the armory, but he'd not escaped quickly enough to mask the smile that had stolen across his face.

Jeren stayed where she was, her head completely filled with warring emotions, and she wondered how her life had become such a jumbled mess in such a short time.

And Lord Glorfindel tonight! What was he about? He'd never acted as strangely as he had just now.

As she dwelled on all that Glorfindel had told her, she thought it more likely that he was simply trying to make her fret. If his parting smirk was any indication, he was merely toying with her, and he knew nothing about nothing, is what she was thinking.

But what if his _supposed_ suspicions were true? _What would she do?_

She may as well speak to Naith soon. What could it hurt? She would ask the Elleth if she knew whether Arwen would ever return and take over the duties her mother had left behind. And whatever Naith might answer, Jeren could then get her to dwell on what those duties might be.

She shook her head in frustration. Blast Glorfindel! If he was merely using trickery on her, just so that he could watch her squirm—

And now of all times…

She heaved a deep sigh.

He had accomplished one thing with his surprising interruption—he'd certainly taken her mind off of the dream.

Well, perhaps he'd accomplished two things after all; deep inside, she took his words about self-respect to heart.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Could we talk?"

Jeren looked at Elrohir for the first time since he'd walked up to her outside the Hall of Fire, five minutes after Glorfindel had gone. Five more minutes had passed, and all the anger she'd felt had returned, as she remembered the high-handedness that Elrohir had exhibited before, when they were both in their bedchamber. She hadn't decided whether she was ready to forgive him or not, and she knew that that was what had motivated his question.

Perhaps she was being childish by holding on to her hurt, because that had been mostly what Elrohir had done when he'd threatened her earlier—his off-hand remark had cut her to the quick. When she thought of how self-assured he'd been, declaring that he could keep her on the Imladris force by a short turn of the phrase—by merely speaking to Glorfindel—it had left her wanting to weep. She had hoped that the Elrohir she loved would never have made such a threat.

She smiled to herself when she thought of their fight. In a normal couple's quarrel, their positions might have been reversed, but in the fight she'd had with Elrohir, she was threatening to quit being a warrior and he was forbidding her to do it. These positions would make no sense in anyone else's life, so why should she be surprised that it was happening this way in hers? Her life had never been a normal one by anyone's measure, and lately it had become downright bizarre.

Then she inwardly cursed when she suddenly remembered their bond. Sometimes she wished they were not so connected; so attuned to one another that one could practically read the other's mind if they weren't shielding enough. She clamped down on her feelings, afraid that she was too late to keep Elrohir from knowing exactly how she felt. If she was being childish, she wanted to be the only one who was aware of it.

Her gaze froze on his just before she answered him. "We could talk, but only if we both listen as well," she said, and the tone of her voice matched the coldness in her eyes.

He looked away, but quickly glanced back. "I was wrong to say what I did, Jeren. You have to know that I didn't mean it…"

"And how would I know that, Elrohir? You seldom say things you do not mean."

"I said it merely in the heat of the moment. I would never go to Glorfindel behind your back—or in front of it, as I declared that I would." He looked at her mouth, wishing he could make her smile again.

"Regardless of our present disagreement," Jeren said frankly, "a major problem still lies between us. I could quit the Imladris force, as I stupidly said I was going to do, or you could learn to trust my skill as a warrior. But we cannot go on the way that we have been doing." Her gaze softened just the slightest bit. "But I know I must be true to myself, Elrohir. If I quit soldiering, I would be denying my very heart. I think neither of us would like me very well if that is what I did."

Sensing that her anger was easing, Elrohir took her hands in his. "I know that everything you are saying is exactly the truth. Yet I do not know how to change. I've tried everything I know to do." He smiled and leaned his forehead against hers. "It seems as if I'm a lost cause. Perhaps I love you too much."

"I used to believe that one could not love another too much, but you may be the exception to the rule." She slowly smiled back at him, and steeled her spine as she stood up straighter. She had a proposition for him that she wasn't sure he'd agree to, and since they were speaking to each other again, she knew there was no time like the present to broach the subject. "Perhaps we could enlist your father's help? Get him to try his mind healing on you again?"

"Doing that is unpredictable at best, Jeren," he replied skeptically. "It seems to have widely varying degrees of success—or failure—with me."

She stepped away from him slightly, because she needed to bring up another subject—one that was related to what they'd been discussing, but one that he'd grown tired of hearing about over the past couple of days.

"Elrohir," she said haltingly. "Mayhap there is something else his mind healing could help you with while he was at it. I hesitate to bring this up, but it is very important, and the fact that I keep harping on it should be enough for you to finally understand that I will not just let it die…"

"You are speaking of the dream you keep telling me about, aren't you?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm talking about," she said, and she could hear as the sullen tone of her voice faded away and excitement took its place. She just had to make him understand…

"The message in the dream is vitally important to me—to us. I don't know how I know this or why I was the one chosen to remember it and you were not. That aside, it hurts my heart that you cannot remember seeing your mother—hearing her voice. I want you to be able to recall the dream for those reasons alone, even if you never remember the message she brought to us." She reached for his hands. "You were so happy to see her, Elrohir—she was so real. You must believe me."

He sighed deeply before he replied, his tone resigned, "I simply do not remember it—none of it—not anymore. I do not even recall waking up in the Healing Halls that day. I suppose it is the poison's work, because my memory usually does not fail me."

"Then let your father do his mind healing on you, Elrohir," Jeren said, practically pleading, and as she braced herself for his refusal, she hurried on, "He has reached you before using it, unpredictably as you have said, but I fear it's our only hope.

"I have spoken to him about the dream—that's where I was before I came here. I explained most of it to him, and he didn't believe me at first, but when I mentioned the necklace your mother wore, he could not deny that I had been visited by her in some way.

"Necklace?" Elrohir asked. "What about a necklace? This is something new…"

"Not new, Elrohir; just not something I thought important before, but which has turned out to be very important indeed. I will tell you more of it later." She turned back to the railing, looking out on the darkened valley she'd grown to love so much. "I think your father may suspect that the foresight of the Dúnedain is manifesting itself in me; I believe otherwise… I think if he would but take us both into the mind healing room, delve into both of our minds—he will see for himself that I am telling him exactly the truth. There isn't any foresight involved—only a dream. A wonderful dream." She stopped for a moment, already feeling petty even before she began begging, and turning to face him she said, "And mayhap, having your father work his mind healing on you in some way, you will remember the dream, too. _Please_ Elrohir. I don't ask much of you…"

He smiled again, before he said, "Does this mean you've forgiven me?"

Her smile was finally painted with her usual warmth. "It could… Does this mean that you agree to my plan?"

He moved even closer to her then, placing his hands at her waist. "I noticed the lamp in Father's study was out when I passed below his window a few minutes ago. I think he is probably abed by now." He risked getting even closer to her then, hoping her anger would not flare up again should he kiss her. His lips were as near to hers as they could get without them actually touching hers. "I think we should probably follow his example, don't you?"

She hadn't missed that he had not answered her question, but she'd had enough of fighting for one night. She pulled him closer still, kissing him deeply, before she replied. "I think you are probably right…"

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The next morning, not only did Jeren not meet Elrond in his study before morning meal as he'd requested the night before, both she and Elrohir were late in joining the family in breaking their fasts. As she entered the dining hall, Jeren stole a look at the Elf lord, who raised his brows just the slightest bit as he met her gaze. She quickly lowered her eyes, but raised them again, hoping to convey her remorse.

"I am sorry I didn't come to your study earlier, Father," she said. "I accidentally overslept this morning…"

Just as Elrond was about to answer her, Elrohir chimed in. "She is telling you falsely in order to protect me," he said, looking at Jeren to see her reaction. She looked back at him appalled that he'd just disclosed the fact that she'd been lying, so, knowing he was already navigating in choppy seas, he plunged onward. "I couldn't seem to let go of her."

"Elrohir!" Jeren said with a scowl, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment. Both Glorfindel and Elladan tried to stifle their laughter, but couldn't seem to manage it.

Elrond looked pointedly at the other Elves in the room and quelled their jollity with one commanding glance around the table. "All is well, Jeren," he said. "I was young once, myself."

His smile was slight, but it did Jeren's heart good to see a positive emotion on his face. After her revelations last night about having visited his wife in Valinor, she wasn't sure what his mood would be this morning.

Elrond then scowled at his son—the one with the shameless tongue. "_El_-rohir," he said in his best 'father's' voice, "I think you should be much more mindful of your wife's feelings by not voicing everything that might creep into your head."

Far from looking chastised, Elrohir said, "I think the poison is still affecting my mind, Father…"

"I think the only thing affecting your mind is a devious nature," Elladan put in, and he was unable to dodge the backhanded blow that Elrohir had aimed at his arm.

"You will not get away with this sort of behavior so easily in this instance," Elrond said. "These were entirely different poisons than the one that affected you last time."

Elrohir smiled his impish smile, first at his father and then at Jeren. When she didn't respond, and just kept staring stonily at the food on her plate, he nudged her with his shoulder. She couldn't help but smile then as she nudged him back.

After everyone had settled to eating again, Elrohir asked, "Father, may Jeren and I see you after this meal has ended? We have something we need to discuss with you."

"I look forward to it," was all Elrond said. His eyes were lit with a peculiar light, making it impossible to tell if it were interest or dread he was feeling.

The clinking of flatware against plates was the only sound around the table for the next little while, and Jeren took that time to observe those seated around her. Elrond seemed tired, but deep in thought, while Elladan and Elrohir appeared to only have eating the food in front of them on their minds. As her gaze strayed to Glorfindel, she could see that, while he was a bit introspective, he looked as if he was contemplating saying something. It didn't take her long to find out what it was.

"Elrond," the Arms Master asked, "why did you question Erestor about the condition of the barracks yesterday afternoon?"

Elrond smiled slightly and crooked one of his brows. "Is your nose out of joint because I did so?"

Glorfindel put on an affronted air, although Jeren had no doubt that he was anything but offended—she knew he was fishing for facts.

"Of course it is not," Glorfindel said with all of the familiar steel in his tone.

"Then why do you ask?"

Glorfindel looked as though he was at war with himself, and Jeren couldn't tell exactly why, until he spoke next.

"Because I would wonder if you are privy to information that I am not. Should I be airing the bedding? Or perhaps I might add to the linen supply? Apparently you do not find me capable of tending to these matters myself, if you are having Erestor check up on my efficiency."

"So your nose is disjointed," Elrond said with a triumphant grin. He sobered quickly at the Arm's Master's angry glare. "No, Glorfindel," he said as if to appease the ancient Elf lord. "I am merely checking all the supplies—seeing what is needed. You know I do this from time to time."

"Yes, I do know that, Elrond," he said, this time his smile one of victory. "But the last time you did this, thirteen Dwarves, a Hobbit and Gandalf made an appearance soon after, not to mention the White Wizard and the Lady Galadriel. If there is to be company here, I would want to know it."

Jeren sat stock still where she was, waiting with bated breath for Elrond's answer. After all, this information might directly concern her. In fact, everyone had stopped what they were doing, wondering what the Elf lord's answer would be.

"I didn't realize you watched me so closely," Elrond replied, and it was quite obvious that he was enjoying this exchange he was having with one of his oldest friends. But then he stared into Glorfindel's eyes, his tone a serious one, "But if it is company other than ours here that you seek, I fear I must disappoint you. I know of no such thing about to occur. I am simply checking Imladris' stores."

Glorfindel grunted noncommittally, but said nothing more, although Jeren did not miss the glance he'd sent her way.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Father, first of all I—we—want you to perform mind healing on Elrohir."

After the morning meal was finished, Jeren and Elrohir went with Elrond back to the Elf lord's study. They were sitting around Elrond's desk, where he took a seat behind it and Jeren and Elrohir were in the chairs facing him.

"You do?" he asked skeptically as he gazed for quite a long while at his son. It was as if he were silently asking Elrohir if it was truly something he wanted to do.

"_We_ do, Father," Elrohir assured him. "I want this. Getting me to remember the dream Jeren had—

"—we _both_ had…" Jeren quickly interjected.

Elrohir smiled at being caught misspeaking by his wife, even though it was an honest slip, since he truly did not remember the dream. "Remembering the dream we _both_ had… is important to Jeren; therefore it is important to me."

Elrond leaned back in his chair and sighed, his face a mask of grim concern. "I am still wondering about the nature of 'the dream', quite honestly."

Jeren frowned, and he quickly sat forward, placing his elbows on his desk and clasping his hands. "It isn't that I do not believe you were somehow visited by my wife, Jeren. As we discussed last night, no one else besides Celebrian and me knew of the necklace you said she was wearing while in your presence. But do remember you were strangely visited by your mother several times after her death, when you were under duress."

Elrohir abruptly straightened in his chair. "You don't think Mother is dead?"

Elrond's expression did not change, unless it grew even more bleak. "It is a possibility, Elrohir. She was very ill when she left here."

Jeren couldn't stand the utter hopelessness on Elrohir's face. She put her hand in his and said, "No, Elrohir. She isn't dead! You must believe me; I know she is not!"

"And how would you know that, Jeren?" he asked insistently. "In the dreams you've had of your mother, you've told me she seemed as warm and real as she had when she was alive and well."

"Yes, that is right, Elrohir…" Jeren said, a little hesitant at first, because he did have a point. Yet the dream had been completely different from the times she'd seen and spoken to her mother. She shook her head in frustration. This line of talk was getting them nowhere. "But your mother _isn't_ dead and I'm not under duress now," she said, as if both things were the utter truth and she had no doubt of them.

"You aren't under any strain now, except that which you are putting yourself through over this _supposed_ dream!" Elrond said hostilely. He cleared his throat, trying to calm his voice a little, but his scowl remained in place. "Yet you were worried a tremendous amount when you had the dream, were you not?" His demeanor was still harsh when he stood and walked around to the side of the desk where Jeren was seated. Perching on the corner, he went on, "Your husband was gravely ill and you didn't know if he was going to live or die. I would say that is among the worst sort of anxiety a person can endure."

"Father," Jeren said quietly, not at all put off by his aggression. "Just take us both into the mind healing room and see for yourself. Lead us through the process as you always do, and you will personally see what it was. Then _you_ can decide—was it a dream, was it fact or hallucination? Will you _please_ do that, Father?"

Elrond looked across the room at nothing, sighing deeply before he looked back at the two in front of him, apparently resigned. "You are both wanting this?" He again looked at Elrohir, as if he might wish that his son would stop encouraging this flight of fancy Jeren had decided to pursue.

"Father," Jeren said, her voice pleading and soft. "I would think you would want to do this—see for yourself how vital she is; how full of life."

"That is exactly the point, Jeren," he replied earnestly. "I am afraid of what I will see. I am afraid that I will see what you cannot—that I ultimately failed. That the voyage to the Undying Lands was futile; that I was unsuccessful in my last hope for her. I do not want to endure that, and I certainly do not want to put my son through it unnecessarily."

Jeren pondered what Elrond had said for several seconds, looking down at her hand that was cradled in her husband's. What if Elves had that power? The ability to discern life or death in this situation; a power she did not possess. What if Celebrian was dead and it had been her spirit that Jeren had seen? What if all this had sprung from some elaborate hallucination that she'd had because she had been so connected to Elrohir while he was deep into the poisonous dreams of near death.

_What if?_

Glorfindel ghosted through Jeren's mind then, and his talk of self-confidence just last night reminded her of who and what she was. Up until this very moment, she'd been completely sure of herself, as far as the dream of Celebrian was concerned. Was she going to allow self-doubt to stop her now, when she was on the brink of success?

The answer was a definite 'no'.

"Father," Jeren said, "she is _not_ _dead_. Just see for yourself…"

He again looked long at Elrohir. "You are sure, son?" he asked gently.

Elrohir nodded his head, his countenance set as if he had never been more certain of anything in his life.

Jeren's eyes filled as she realized the depth of Elrohir's love for her. He didn't remember the dream at all. Yet he was willing to maybe learn something he truly did not want to know, simply because he had faith in her. She filled her heart with love and gratitude for him, opening their bond and presenting it to him as her gift.

Such a small thing, but so very profound…

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

That same day, just after noon meal, Jeren and Elrohir were walking hand in hand to the room where Elrond usually performed his mind healing. Jeren had refused to wander the hallways of Imladris in only her sleeping dress, so they each had the clothes that they slept in draped over one of their arms.

It had been decided that this afternoon Elrond would seek to join Elrohir and Jeren's minds through their marriage bond, hoping that the end result would be that Elrohir would experience the dream again and thus remember it, since Jeren kept insisting that it was of vital importance. If the rest turned out as Jeren said it would, Elrond would see how his wife appeared to be as she lived in Valinor. However, when they'd left him in his study, he'd remained unconvinced.

As they drew close to the place where they were to meet the Elf lord, Jeren suddenly stopped several feet from the door of the room. It was a door unlike any other in the Last Homely House. While most of the doors in the house had arched tops, this one did not; this one was just slightly rounded. It had been hewn from the trunk of the bloodwood tree, a wood of such a dark red color that it truly lived up to its name. Despite the incredible hardness of the wood itself, the door had scrollwork and runes carved along its edges. The door's knob and hinges were made of brass, and then overlaid with copper.

"You have memories of this place, not all of them good," Elrohir said as his hand caressed hers.

As she stood there looking at it, she reminded herself it was just a door, and the room was just a room. There was nothing inside that could hurt her—not anymore. Not since Lord Elrond had used this room to banish most of the hurt and all of shame her mind once held.

She looked up at Elrohir, her smile a sad one. "Yes, I have many memories of this place, and none of them are pleasant."

She stood straighter and reached for the knob, turning it and admitting them both. Elrohir closed the door behind them. Elrond had not yet arrived, so they set about changing into their sleeping clothes. At least Jeren did. Elrohir stripped down to his bare skin and slid onto the large, round cushion that took up much of the room. There was a soft blanket folded neatly on the cushion, and he shook it out, pulling it up to his waist.

"You are certainly making yourself comfortable, Elrohir," Jeren said with a wry twist of her lips.

"I am simply trying to make the situation as close to the one in which the dream occurred. I don't truly remember, but I am assuming that I had precious little on in the Healing Halls that day." Although his argument had merit, his intentions were simpler. If he were relaxed enough to be totally unclothed, then it would stand to reason that he was completely unworried about the journey they were about to embark on in this room, thus, perhaps his wife might feel a little more at ease.

Jeren smiled slightly then. "You are correct," she assured him, "you had nothing on then; nothing but the bandage tied over your wound."

"There, you see?" Elrohir said, again purposely trying to lighten her mood, because a strange sadness—an eerie unease—had taken over Jeren's heart the minute she'd seen the red door.

As Jeren slipped her gown over her head, Elrohir said, "Personally, I think you are wearing too much. Were you in a sleeping dress that day?"

Jeren blushed and said, "Well, no, but I wasn't naked, either."

Elrohir was persistent. "What _were_ you wearing?"

"Your father insisted that I strip to my small clothes. So that's what I wore, top and bottom, if you must know," she replied.

"Well, he is the one who told us to make things as close to the way they were that day," he said matter-of-factly. Then, in a mumbling sort of voice, pretending that he really didn't want her to hear him, he added, "I still think you have too many clothes on…"

"I will change that when—and only when—your father says I should."

Jeren had then slipped beneath the blanket next to Elrohir, and he held her closely, feeling from her the fear she was struggling to hide. There was a knock on the door, and Elrond opened it after only a few seconds, entering and closing it behind him.

Jeren started trembling at first sight of the Elf lord, a response she never would have foreseen at this late date. In the past she'd reacted exactly this way each time she came here to meet Elrond for healing, but she knew this session would be different. She couldn't understand why the memory of so many previous healings with him, which had left her terrified and weeping at the time, would upset her now, when the reason she was here today had little to do with her and everything to do with Elrohir. But knowing that did not seem to help at all.

Elrond looked at her long, and then he pulled a chair away from a table beside the door to set it next to the cushion. Without preamble, he said, "Jeren, you know how this works better than most; but first you must calm yourself." His voice was soft and loving, conveying in its very tone that he would not let any harm come to her here. It was how they'd always started their sessions in the past, because she ever came to the room in fear and dread, and he'd had to calm her each time before they'd even been able to proceed. "Close your eyes and breathe deeply, thinking of that which makes you happiest."

Jeren smiled, because that was an easy thing—Elrohir made her happiest. But she couldn't help thinking of the irony of it now, because in the past, it had been Elladan that had filled her mind during this exercise.

"Father, do you not think she has too many clothes on?" Elrohir asked with a cheeky grin. He was still trying to ease his wife in the only way he knew how—using humor to make her relax, to let her know that if all weren't well, he wouldn't be lying here naked and jesting.

Jeren squinted her eyes, but did not open them. Elrond focused his on his son…

"Elrohir, you are to remain quiet until I ask you to speak. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Father… but…"

"No buts, Elrohir. Now quiet. I have a few questions for Jeren first, and then it will be your turn."

"One more thing, Father," Elrohir said. One might have thought him nervous, with his penchant for talking so much, and one would have been completely correct in that assumption. Jeren's strange reaction had him uneasy in a way he could not understand. "Why are you not sitting here on the cushion with us? In the past, that's how you conducted the sessions with me. And also the ones you had with Andis…"

"Yes, Elrohir," Elrond said, trying not to sound frustrated. "And I will get to that in a few moments, when I am ready to put you both into a healing sleep. Now please, be quiet."

"Yes, Father…but…"

"Enough, Elrohir!"

When there was peaceful silence at last, Elrond asked, "Are you feeling calmer now, Jeren? If not, we can wait until you are more at ease."

Jeren nodded her head, keeping her eyes closed. "I am better now, Father," she admitted. "I've put my mind on the reason we are here—the dream. That seems to be holding my attention and now I am feeling more like myself."

"Then please tell Elrohir and me about the dream. You said last night that it seemed as real as an ordinary day you might have lived."

"That's right…" she said, hesitating as she drew her thoughts together. "I was lying next to Elrohir, much like I am now, and you were about to place us into a healing sleep. And I could tell the moment you'd done so," she began. "But suddenly I seemed to 'be' somewhere else; as if I'd opened my eyes on a new day, in a strange but beautiful place. One minute I was next to Elrohir in the Healing Halls, and the next—I was just there…

"The room was much the same as the rooms here are, with an open space in the walls leading out to a veranda. But the scenery was entirely different from what you might see, gazing into the valley of Imladris…

"There was a pounding surf several yards in the distance—the water was a clear, crystal blue—and there was a constant, warm breeze. There were sea birds soaring above, calling to one another as they played on the wind currents."

"Seagulls?" Elrond asked in question, his voice wary.

"What?"

"The birds; were they seagulls?"

"I truly do not know their name, Father; I'd not seen the like of them ever before, but there were three or four flying just off the veranda. Their call was strange—they sounded almost as if they were laughing."

"Go on," he said quietly, as if he'd not interrupted her at all.

"I had been standing there in the room, turning around, looking at everything, feeling as if I needed to remember it all for some reason. I felt grains of sand under my bare feet on the tiles of the floor, obviously blown in by the wind. As I completed the circle I'd been turning, I looked outside onto the veranda and Elrohir was there, when he hadn't been just a few moments before.

"He was dressed all in white, as he was for our bonding rite, but in a much more casual way." Her face radiated love. "He is beautiful, is he not, Father?"

Elrond smiled as he caught Elrohir's eye. "Yes, Jeren, he is…"

Elrohir frowned as he listened, but Elrond placed a finger to his lips, silently telling his son to make no comment.

"All right," Elrond said. "Now Elrohir, I want you to commit that scene to your memory. It is important that you have a vision of the place in the dream, so that you can take yourself there when Jeren calls to you, which I will instruct her to do in just a few moments. I know this sounds strange, but it is the only way I can think of to describe the process I want you to attempt; I think it will be much like walking the dream paths for you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Father; I understand."

"Jeren, next I would have you describe your experience the day Elrohir was so gravely ill with the poisoning that he needed the marriage bond he has with you in order to calm his heart. It is important that you are in the correct frame of mind.

"You were afraid for him—deeply afraid—as I was. I want you to feel those emotions again."

Then he told his son, "Listen closely to what she relates, Elrohir—it is important that your mind is following along with hers, that your two psyches might meld together; almost like two conscious beings in one mind. Neither of you should be shielding your bond at all—open it wide. I know that is a hard thing to do by now, since you've been doing the opposite thing since your bonding, but it is all I can think of to do."

Again addressing Jeren he said, "You remember that time, do you not?"

"I do, Father," she said quietly. "I was scared unto death! He was thrashing about in his hallucinations, and the only way to calm him was to make him know that I was safe." She tightened her hold on Elrohir before she continued. "I got into the bed next to him and held onto to him for dear life. And that was not an easy thing, because he was so agitated from the poison. But he calmed rather quickly, and that made me happy.

"You then told me it was time for the healing sleep, and that I was to call to him."

Elrond rose from the chair and sat next to Elrohir on the cushion. Leaning over his son, he placed his hands on both of their brows, and then said, "I want you to do that now, Jeren, just before I place sleep upon you. With your mind, call to Elrohir; tell him to follow your voice, and at the same time, picture the place in the dream you just told us about. And Elrohir, seek for her words; go to her…"

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Elrond sat back, already exhausted, wanting to rest for just a moment, before he delved into Jeren's mind.

He used to detest even speaking mind to mind—fought it with his whole being. Just moments of using it left him drained and sick, so much so that he avoided it at all costs. But when a young Human girl came into his life, her mind fractured from torture beyond which she could endure, he read copious scrolls on the practice of mind healing, of which he knew next to nothing. And he learned that with practice, doing it over and over, it became easier and easier, until he achieved a level of strength that enabled him to endure the process long enough to ultimately help her.

He smiled down at the sleeping woman—who had been that girl—knowing the effort had been completely worth it.

And now he was going to attempt the healing of one person through the mind of another. He'd not had even a vague notion of how to do such a thing, when his son and Jeren had asked him to do so this morning. So he'd spent the rest of the time till their scheduled meeting thinking about it; planning a strategy. He hoped that it worked, because if it didn't, he had no other ideas of how to accomplish it.

He rubbed his tired eyes with his fingers. He'd not gotten much rest last night; not after Jeren's visit. To hear her speak of the pendant he'd given to Celebrian had left him reeling and had brought many unhappy memories rushing back to him.

He remembered the day his sons brought his wife home after they'd rescued her. Of how he feverishly worked over her night and day for so many hours that he lost count, trying remedy after remedy, tonics and known antidotes, and none of them succeeding in purging the poison from her frail body. And then there was her utter despair and his inability to help her see that she was still the love of his life, the wife he cherished with all his heart. He could not make her see it, and her depression, along with the lingering effects of the poison the Orcs had inflicted on her, had driven her to seek peace in the Undying Lands at Elrond's first suggestion of the idea.

Yes, the memories were numerous.

So last night he'd gone to his chambers, had readied himself for bed, but had been unable to settle. He'd had too much on his mind.

He had wandered his chambers, finding things at each turn that brought memories of his wife. There were reminders everywhere.

There was a blown glass vase he had gotten for her from a well-traveled tradesman, who said he'd bartered for it with an Easterling several years prior. It was a beautiful piece, a riot of color, and Celebrian had loved it from the moment she'd seen it. Elrond had secretly bought it and had kept it hidden until her next begetting day. He could still remember the joyous look on her face when he'd presented it to her. But there had been no such joy when she was packing to go to the Gray Havens; she left it on their dresser. She feared it might not survive the voyage…

Then there was the tapestry she'd woven herself, which graced the wall of their bedchamber. The scene she'd worked into it had been one of the Misty Mountains. She had told him shortly after they'd met that the first time she'd beheld the sight of the snowy peaks, it had taken her breath away. But later, after their sons had rescued her, she had demanded that he take it down. It had been near the Redhorn Pass that she'd been abducted by Orcs, to be tortured and wounded and poisoned past Elrond's ability to heal.

After her departure to Valinor, he'd retrieved it from the refuse pile she had placed it in and had hung it back up. It didn't remind him of torture and fear; no, when he beheld the tapestry, he only saw a beautiful woven picture; but he could remember his wife's hands as she'd worked at the loom while she made it, the curve of her back as she bent toward her work. Those had been among the memories that had sustained him in many a desolate hour.

Of course there was the portrait of them both in their sitting room that had been there for ages. Literally for millennia had it hung on that very same wall. It had been done after they'd bonded, and was in fact a gift from Celeborn, as he had painted it himself. They had been so young and in love—fearless in the face of the future. Who ever would have guessed that that same future would have been cut short, not by death, but by separation?

He very much feared that which Jeren wanted him to see in this dream. Perhaps now he and Celebrian _were_ separated by death, and this dream just might confirm it. What if he could tell right away that it really wasn't a living and breathing Celebrian there, but only a figment of a brilliant, but dreaming, imagination? Would he be able to tell the difference? Perhaps it would be plain as night and day. Perhaps it wouldn't… But did he have the strength to cope if it was clear to him that Celebrian was dead? He feared such a discovery would literally break his heart.

But then, if she was dead, he would no longer have much reason for living, now would he?

He inhaled sharply at that thought, and closed his eyes, knowing that time was wasting. He must begin. He would need much strength for this. He only hoped that he was up for it.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"_Jeren," Elrond said, "do you hear me?"_

"_Yes, Father; but I do not see you…"_

"_I am coming to that. Is Elrohir with you?"_

"_I am here, Father…"_

"_First you must relive the dream, Jeren. If you would begin please? Soon you will see me beside you. Elrohir, follow her voice and remember what she told us of the place she is taking us."_

"_I will, Father…"_

"_I awoke in a room, very like the one Elrohir and I have now. The surf was crashing against the shore, but not in a violent way—it was much more peaceful than it sounds…_

Jeren pictured the dream, just as she'd had it, looking out at the churning water, hearing the seabirds. It was funny—she'd never been near the sea before, had never been told of its constant movement, yet she instinctively knew what to call it—surf, waves slapping against the sand of the beach. She then looked inside the room, turning a full circle, and as she was completing the arc, she closed her eyes, hoping with her entire being that Elrohir would be there, standing on the veranda.

"_Elrohir, are you here?" she whispered._

She stood there, almost feeling the tiny grains of sand beneath her feet on the floor; imagining feeling the warm breeze as it lifted her hair and caressed her skin. Slowly she opened her eyes…

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"_I am here, Jeren," he said, and as her eyes fluttered open, she ran to him and his arms enclosed around her. She breathed a huge sigh of relief as she hugged him tightly. _

_They were each clothed exactly as they had been in the original dream. They were in the same room, looking out at the same scenery. All was as it had been before. Their gazes trailed inside the room, searching for Elrond. They stepped tentatively inside._

"_Father?" Jeren called, "are you with us?"_

"_I am…"_

_They both looked up and all around them, because, as Celebrian's voice had in the prior dream, Elrond's voice now seemed 'everywhere'. Finally, they then turned toward the veranda, and there they could see him now walking in from outside._

"_Father," Jeren said, "I fear this isn't working. Already the dream is different; and this surely isn't like any mind healing session I've had with you before."_

"_How do you mean, Jeren?" he asked her, as if he knew what she would say, but he just had need to hear her say it._

"_Well, for one thing, Elrohir and I have not had the same conversation," she said, "and you walked in from outside; you don't seem to only be an observer in this, as you usually are during a session. It feels as if you, too, are a part of this—whatever it is…"_

_Elrond smiled and nodded his head. "You are right, Jeren. Whatever this is—dream, hallucination—whatever—it is not a simple mind healing session at all. And if it is a dream, I seem to be having it with you today."_

_He walked further inside the room, but turned around to face them again. "The last thing I remember doing was instructing you, Jeren. I then seemed to have lost consciousness, and the next thing I knew, I'd woken here, on my feet, clothed differently, and walking on the sand. To say I am out of my usual element, is putting it mildly."_

_But Elrond was a powerful Elf, and he didn't frighten easily, so instead of wringing his hands and wondering what to do, he did as he always did—he took control of the situation. Gone was his exhaustion of before, and his thoughts were only on the problem at hand. He'd gotten them into this mess and he would very well get them out of it, too._

"_Elrohir," he said, as he made his way out to the veranda again, "do you yet remember anything about this place? Has being here with Jeren caused you to remember any part of the prior dream?"_

"_It is teasing at the back of my mind, Father," he said slowly. "It is as if there is something there, but it is just out of my grasp."_

_Elrond sat at the table that was on the veranda and leaned back in the chair, looking as if he were right at home. "You may as well be comfortable and sit," he said, indicating the other chairs. "None of us knows how long this will take."_

_Jeren frowned and shook her head. She hesitated, looking as if she really didn't want to say what she was thinking. But her need to be clear overrode her need to spare the Elf lord's feelings. "Father, I am not one to be easily frightened; but if we're all asleep, how does this end?" _

"_Worry not," he said, and his smile was one that showed he felt up to any challenge—including this strange one. "I once tried reaching you when you had retreated into yourself; I spoke to you mind to mind, and led you back from I knew not where, when I'd had no training at all. Trust me, daughter. We will wake when we wake, and will be none the worse for the wear. _

"_Now," he said to Jeren, as soon as she and Elrohir were seated, "I want you to think about the original dream, bring it back to your mind. And I will try to insinuate myself into it with you, just as we always did in our mind healing sessions. Are you ready?"_

_Jeren hesitantly nodded her head, hoping he knew what he was doing._

"_You may as well try to join with us, Elrohir. I do not know if it will work, but we've gotten this far—wherever we are—so any gamble is worth trying."_

_Jeren closed her eyes and pictured the dream again, thinking about being in the room they were already in, and how in the dream she'd been so excited when Elrohir had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. She envisioned watching Celebrian walk in from the beach—and at the same time, even wished to see her. _

'_Please let me show you to them, Celebrian,' she thought. 'Please. I know of no other way to convince them that you had a message for me and Elrohir. Please… Let them see you…'_

_But before she could continue, she heard a collective gasp from both Elrohir and Elrond. Her eyes flew open, and she looked at them, wondering what had so drawn their attention. _

_They were staring outside, in the direction of the water, so she slowly—slowly—turned her head, knowing before she did so exactly what—or who—she was going to see._

_Celebrian, again clad in the pale green gown she'd been in before, her golden hair blowing around her shoulders in the wind, walked toward the veranda as she had in the dream. _

_Elrohir got up from his chair and stood there completely stunned. "Mother?" _

_Without waiting for her response, he ran to her, engulfing her into his arms, pulling her up off the ground and twirling her slightly. He placed her down onto her feet, and then stood back, astonished. "I would think I were dead and was seeing a ghost, but you appear to be the picture of health and are supposed to be alive and well—in Valinor." He looked at her with awe in his eyes. "How can this be?"_

"_It is a dream, my son. All things are possible when one dreams," she said, laughing lightly as she ran her hand down Elrohir's cheek. Then Celebrian gently disengaged herself from her son's arms and walked toward Jeren, still sitting at the table. "You were calling for me; I could not ignore you."_

_Jeren was spellbound by the scene. What she'd just witnessed between Elrohir and his mother had been exactly as the dream had gone before. And what the Lady had just said to her had been her words precisely—only she'd said them to Elrohir. _

_Jeren was terribly mixed up; didn't know what her next words or movements should be, so she turned to Elrond for guidance._

_But when the Elf lord had seen his Lady wife, he'd stood up so suddenly his chair had clattered over backward onto the tiles of the floor. He was now standing still, looking as if he'd suddenly been cast in stone— _

—_Or had perhaps seen a ghost…_

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

_Jeren rose from her chair to greet the Elf Lady. She bowed her head slightly and said excitedly, "I am so glad you came; I was indeed calling you."_

_Celebrian seemed to only have eyes for Jeren at first, even though Elrond had approached warily, his face ashen._

"_You said something about 'them' not believing you truly have a message from me?" she asked, her smile mischievous. She looked to either side of her from the corners of her eyes. "These two here?" It was then that she turned her beautiful face toward her husband, who until then had not moved an inch—he'd been too shaken._

"_Celebrian?" he said, his voice a mere breath, "is it really you?"_

"_It is, my love," she said, and she hurried into his arms._

_He embraced her as if she were the very air he needed to breathe, but then he pulled away from her. "How… Why… Is this even possible?"_

"_It must be, or we would not be experiencing it." She fell into his arms then, resting her face against his neck. "Oh, how I've missed you, Elrond…"_

"_And I you, Cel…" _

_He backed a step away from her then, so that they were facing each other, hands joined, foreheads touching. Elrohir pulled Jeren along with him, leading her outside to the sand, hoping to give his parents some measure of privacy. _

"_Is this how it was in the other dream, Jeren? You kept telling me she seemed alive and real, but I couldn't believe it—not really. But I certainly do now."_

"_Yes, Elrohir, she is exactly the same as before—wearing exactly what she was wearing—looking as alive as anyone can look." She gazed into his eyes. "Do you remember it yet?"_

"_The original dream?" he asked, but before he gave her time to say anything, he answered her, "No, I don't. But I _will_ remember this, have no fear." _

"_That wasn't what I meant," Jeren said with a trace of a smile. "I was wondering if you had remembered her message to us…"_

_His smile mirrored the one on her face. "No, not yet. Perhaps she will repeat it…"_

"_I _must_ repeat it," Celebrian said, her arm linked with her husband's as they came out onto the sand. She turned back to Elrond, her face suddenly desolate. "I would never leave this dream—or you—could I help it. But I cannot stay. I must return…_

"_I dwell with wonder on this gift I've received—not only seeing one of my sons—twice—but also my husband? I do not know how to repay such a debt—or exactly who to repay it to. Yet I will find a way..." Her voice had taken on an ethereal quality, but she suddenly tossed her head as if to clear it, and when she next spoke, her words rang clear and direct. "I only know I've been compelled to sleep now—two times. And each time I've fallen asleep, I've had the most realistic and lovely dreams. Imagine, Elrond—an Elleth sleeping… Having a dream…_

"_But my time is so short…" her voice broke then, and a tear escaped one of her eyes, trickling down her cheek. She wiped it away with trembling fingers, and then pulled Jeren and Elrohir together to stand before her. "Remember this—much strife and war will soon beset the land in which you are living. It is vital to you both that you do not sit idly by." She looked at Jeren directly then, even as she backed away. "Do not sit idly by."_

_Again, as in the previous dream, Jeren was overwhelmed by the Elf Lady's stunning blue eyes, and a vision she knew was the future spread before her—Elves, Dwarves, Hobbits and Men—all meeting together for a common cause. The vision was over almost before it had begun, and she was again standing with Elrohir, but this time when Jeren watched as Celebrian hurried away from them, it was the Elf lady's husband who ran after her, not her son._

_Jeren's heart clenched painfully, when the prior dream did not play out as before. Celebrian had not turned back, had held no child in her arms. But then Jeren held her breath when, before going very far, Celebrian stopped, turning back toward her husband. _

_But Jeren's hopes were dashed again when she watched Celebrian retrace her steps, joining Elrond where he'd stopped in the sand. S___till _there was no child... _

_Elrond stayed where he was as Celebrian slowly walked back to join him again. "You can come no farther, my love," she said. She smiled tearfully up into his eyes as he cupped her face in both of his hands. "I am here, Elrond; in Valinor. Do not doubt it ever again. I was greatly fortunate to have a husband with the foresight to send me here, and, with the grace of the Valar, I've been healed." _

_He traced the joined hearts of the pendant she wore with unsteady fingers, and she grasped his hand in hers. She kissed his lips lightly, and when he would have pulled her closer, she broke away from him, walking backward toward the surf. "I will be waiting for you, my husband…"_

_With that, she turned and ran back up the beach, until they could no longer make out her form as she was swallowed up in the fog._

_The fog had been slow to develop, but as they all stood there watching, it started speeding toward them. They felt paralyzed, as if their feet had become one with the beach, and before they could even think to react, the fog enshrouded first Elrond, then Jeren and Elrohir. They could see nothing, not even each other._

_And then they knew no more…_

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Elrohir opened his eyes slowly, unused to waking from a sound sleep. The only times he truly slept were when he was badly injured, but he'd slept like the dead this day and now his mind was sluggish, his thoughts hard to focus. He could barely think at all, and it took him a moment before he even had half of his wits about him.

Jeren was cuddled beside him, her face against his arm, her mouth slightly open in sleep. He again closed his eyes, which seemed too heavy to hold open, but he found he couldn't keep them shut. He frowned as he thought about the things he'd just witnessed—was it a dream? He knew that it was, but it was all so hard to grasp.

_At least he remembered it this time. And he would make sure to never forget it…_

He turned his head toward the window, but was startled when he came face to face with someone asleep beside him. He stilled his racing heart when he realized it was only his father. He truly felt drugged, and it vaguely concerned him, but then he smiled. Of course… This was the usual effect of his father's healing sleep.

Elrohir lay motionless as he examined his father's face. He couldn't remember a time when he'd had the luxury of being still enough—and having the Elf lord quiescent for a long enough time—that he could actually study him. He saw some of his and Elladan's features mirrored back at him. Elladan's brow line was almost an exact duplicate of their father's, while his was a little less severe; a little more curved.

_Like their mother's…_

He'd seen her! He'd actually seen her… He'd met with his mother in Valinor; and there was no doubt in his mind at all that what he'd witnessed had been real. Well, as real as a dream can be, he imagined. He'd not had any dreams in his life, except those which he chose for himself when he walked the dream paths. But Estel had dreamed and so had Jeren, and from what they told him about them, dreams usually had a distinctly unreal quality to them when examined in the bright light of day.

So while he knew this _had been_ a dream, he also knew that it had been real. But how could that be? Who or what had arranged it, not once but twice? He closed his eyes again, too weary to make sense of it now.

He then gazed at his father's sleeping face again. What would he say when he woke? Would he maintain his belief that his wife might be dead and now he had proof? In the dream he had just been a part of, Elrohir had seen his mother—alive and thriving, more beautiful than he'd remembered her being. His last sight of her had been when they'd watched the ship she was on set sail, and she'd barely even waved goodbye. That shell of a person had been his mother, broken and ill. But now she was who she had been before, and she looked to be the picture of health.

But had his father seen something different when he'd gazed upon the Elf lady? While both he and Elrond were Peredhil, his father had chosen to be Elfkind and he had not yet chosen at all. Elrohir had always known that Elrond was powerful in ways he didn't yet understand—if he ever would, no matter his choice—and he couldn't help but wonder if the Elf lord, after experiencing the dream, had seen his wife—or had seen a ghost.

His father had been upset—angry even—when Jeren persisted in wanting to prove to him that his wife was alive. But what about now—did his father think as he did, and could swear that they had living proof of the Elf lady's vibrant health? Would he be elated at having seen her? Or would he be distraught that he'd seen her, but had not been able to stay with her?

Elrohir looked toward Jeren, so peaceful in her sleep. How would he feel, if he were in the situation that his father was in? As far as Elrohir knew, his sire believed now that his wife was alive and well, but out of his grasp, until such time that he felt he could accomplish no more here in Middle-earth, where he dwelled with his children.

Elrohir asked himself…_Would _he_ be able to remain parted from the woman he loved?_

Elrohir felt the pain wash over him—of the loss and dread that shook him when he had the sudden thought that his father might leave and join his mother in Valinor. He was surprised by his reaction! He'd never even given a thought to his father sailing. Never. It had simply never occurred to him. Elrond was a constant in his life—ever there, ever sure and ever guiding. He couldn't imagine Imladris without the presence of the Elf lord as its leader.

He remembered sadly a time after they'd returned from taking his mother to the Gray Havens, and how he and Elladan had decided then that hunting Orcs was going to be their task for the next little while. Their father had tried to dissuade them, pointing them toward other pursuits, but they would not be deterred. He had talked long into the night before they left on their first hunt, telling them both that their emotions were running high; that they should wait until their hearts were not so raw before they embarked on what, to him, seemed like a thankless and fruitless mission. He'd finished by telling them they were acting like children, as bent on revenge as they were.

That had not sat well with Elladan, and on the morning they left on their first hunt, the discord they had been having with their father came to a head. Elrond had at first been merely frosty, but as the silence lingered, his demeanor had then fallen to icy and unforgiving. He could not abide their choice to leave so soon after they'd had to part with their mother, and for them to leave to do a task so fraught with danger and smacking of childish vengeance was unfathomable to him. Elladan had scoffed at him and their father had retreated into the house. Elladan had then ridden off with the other Elves of their party, leaving Elrohir to mend the damage.

He pursed his lips as he remembered it all.

_He went back into the house, unwilling to leave their father with such conflict between them. He looked in his father's study, knowing that's where he'd be, but to his surprise did not find him there. He looked in all the places his father might go in a day, but all proved unrewarding. He was about to give up in his search, when he happened across Erestor as he was walking back toward the house. And without so much as any question from Elrohir, Erestor told him where he might find his father._

Elrohir gave a silent chuckle, thinking of Erestor, his old and seemingly stolid teacher.

_Elrond's chief counselor of the Last Homely House east of the sea, Erestor was as old or older than the Lord of Imladris and had been in Rivendell since its founding. He was one of Elrond's most important counselors yes, but he was also one of the Elf lord's dearest friends as well, having seen him and even his brother Elros through more than several trials. Elrohir had spent many an hour in the library with him, as he'd tried to teach him and Elladan the facts of their history. The twins had not been above playing hijinks on him, and while Erestor had been stern after he'd caught them out, Elrohir had heard him chuckle about it on more than one occasion._

Elrohir sobered as he remembered what happened next in the story…

_Before he'd divulged the Elf lord's whereabouts, Erestor had spoken to him bluntly, wanting to know what had happened. Yet before Elrohir had gotten any more out of his mouth than the fact that they'd quarreled, Erestor had told him that it really did not matter to him what had transpired between the twins and their father, but if Elrond's mood was any indication, then Elrohir had quite a bit of talking to do if he had a prayer of smoothing things over. _

"_If you've never desired to see your lord father with tears on his face, then do not seek him now, Elrohir. I do not know—nor do I care—what you've been quarreling with him about, but it cannot be so important that the two of you would leave Imladris with him in such a state. Where is Elladan?" Erestor made as if he were looking distantly, trying to find the other twin, but gave up the charade to pin his grey eyes back on Elrohir's face. "As much as your father loves the both of you— If you knew the depth of it, neither of you would ever think to raise your voice to him, nor ever give him a single moment of despair."_

_The older Elf stopped in his tirade, taking a deep breath. "I am sorry, Elrohir. It isn't usually you that causes these rifts… I just had no one else to take it out upon, unfortunately for you." _

_He had then pointed to the garden—the family's private garden—and had told Elrohir where to find his father, assuring him that he was doing the right thing in seeking him out. Elrond needed him, Erestor had promised._

_So Elrohir had gone into the garden and had found his father sitting in the shade of a magnificent elm on one of the stone benches that intermittently lined the walkways. He'd had an elbow resting on the arm of the bench, his face in his hand, his fingers covering his eyes. _

"_Father, I am sorry," Elrohir had said softly, as he went to one knee before the Elf lord. "I wasn't thinking… Or I was thinking only of myself and what I wanted."_

_Elrond hadn't been startled by his son's sudden words, soft though they were. He slowly took his hand away from his face and looked at his son. If he'd been weeping, there had been no sign of it then. He smiled and placed a hand on the bench next to him, indicating his wish that Elrohir be seated. _

"_I have no right to dictate to you or your brother how you should live your lives," he said. "That is up to you." He placed a hand on Elrohir's knee, giving it a little squeeze. "But it seems that no matter your age, you and Elladan will forever be my Elflings, the babies that I swore to myself that I would protect to my dying breath. I cannot seem to stop parenting you, even though you really do not need it any longer."_

And that's just how Elrohir felt right now—as if he'd always need his father, even though he was well above majority and had been making his own decisions for millennia. Maybe if what his father had said were true, the reverse was also true—that children needed their parents for much longer than they would ever admit to.

There was nothing like losing his mother to help him appreciate his father more. But now he knew for sure that he'd not lost her—he was just parted from her. He had positive proof, until his father woke up and perhaps told him otherwise. But somehow he knew that wasn't going to happen. He believed Jeren had been right all along.

He glanced down at her again, staying still, not wanting to wake her. After all, she needed sleep in a way he did not fully understand. Certainly he grew tired when he was hard at work for hours on end, but if he did not rest for a night, there would be no detrimental effects on him. He'd seen Humans deprived of sleep plenty of times, and he could attest that they were not nearly at their best, and in the worst cases of long periods of wakefulness, they could even become delusional. He thought it would probably take an Elf weeks to reach that point, although he'd never heard of their limits tested in such a way. He wanted to put his arms around Jeren now, but likewise wanted only what was best for her, so in this case, that was sleep.

So he was essentially trapped in this room—his father on one side of him and his wife on the other. He smiled to himself as he realized that in reality, this predicament wasn't all that bad. Right this moment, he had nothing else pressing to do. He was quite content lying here with two of the people he loved most in the world.

—_And_ _thinking of another in Valinor…_

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**A/N: I am so sorry this chapter was so long in coming. I****t's very long, but this is only half of it! I was trying to make this the last chapter, but it grew and grew, so I decided to divide this "last chapter" into two instead of just one. Then add summer vacation in there and it's been a long time since you've heard from me. But here is the next to the last chapter (I hope), andI hope you enjoyed it. As always, thanks to any and all reviewers who take the time to leave their thoughts and opinions about how I'm doing. **


	44. Chapter 44

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

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The Elf lord sat up sluggishly, frowning as he swung his feet to the floor. He was in his bedchamber in Imladris, but couldn't for the life of him remember when—or how—he got here.

He glanced toward the veranda, trying to decide how much time had elapsed. From the position of the sun, he thought either he'd slept through until the afternoon of the next day, or he'd only been asleep for a few hours. The sun was westering, but it was not quite in its final descent. Were he the betting sort, he would believe that it was yet the same day.

He was still wearing the clothes he'd had on when he'd met with Jeren and Elrohir, but that did not answer the question of exactly how long he'd slept. Someone might have brought him in here yesterday for all he knew, putting him to bed and leaving without stripping him. If it was still the day he thought it was, he didn't know whether to thank them or not—he might have slept longer if he'd been more comfortable. And from the way he was feeling, he certainly wished he had.

He hated sleeping. As an Elf, sleeping was similar to being drugged. Instead of feeling refreshed upon wakening, as Humans appeared to be after a night's sleep, he always felt lethargic and foggy when he awoke, no matter the amount of time that he'd slept. It felt as if every year of the many millennia he'd lived were weighing on him. There were myriad things that made him glad he'd chosen to be Elfkind, and walking the dream paths of a night instead of falling asleep was definitely one of them.

Being none the wiser as to what day it was, he yawned hugely, wincing from the spear of pain in his temple brought on by the headache he just realized he had. His condition was much worse than usual. He shouldn't be surprised by that, since it hadn't been simple mind healing he'd accomplished at all.

_He'd been in a dream..._

He closed his eyes again as the pain in his head reached fever pitch. After the ache had dulled somewhat, he got to his feet and went into his bathing chamber. In less than an hour, he was out again, even after soaking for quite a long while. His hair was wet, since he'd dunked his head, giving it a good drenching, in the vain hope that it might wake him up completely. Actually, it was a wonder he'd not drowned, because, while he probably would have thoroughly soaked his head in due time, the fact was that he'd fallen asleep and had woken up gasping and sputtering when his face had slid beneath the water's surface.

He wished that someone might happen along to check on him now, because he longed dearly for a cup of tea, but hadn't the strength or the will to go to the kitchen himself to make it. He had no intention of leaving his room tonight and had not even dressed to go out again at all. His hair hung damp and unbraided about his shoulders. He wore pale doeskin leggings with a long sleeved shirt of blue lawn, and he walked about in his bare feet. He felt somewhat like he had when he'd practiced his mind healing on Jeren all those years ago, so instead of hunger for an evening meal gnawing his middle, nausea skulked about his gut. However, the intensity of his symptoms was tenfold to what it had been back in those days. It was exactly this sort of 'sickness' that had kept him from perfecting his skills at mind-to-mind speaking for so long. He endured it when Galadriel insisted on communicating that way, but he truly dreaded it when he could feel her knocking upon the door in his consciousness. He shrugged his shoulders and went to the table near his bed to pour himself a bracing glass of Miruvor.

As he headed for his sitting room, he noticed that the door adjoining the two rooms was ajar. _Ah, so he _had_ had help in making it here after all... _That door was never left open when he came into his bedchamber, if he was alone and under his own power.

He placed his glass on the table beside the sofa and sank into the depths of the cushions, closing his eyes and leaning his head against its back. He sucked in a deep breath of air and let it out slowly.

Later—although Elrond didn't know exactly how much later, since he'd fallen asleep again—a brief knock at the sitting room door made him open his eyes. Before he had a chance to acknowledge the visitor, the door opened a crack. Elladan then widened the opening more. "May I come in, Father?"

"Only after you take yourself back to the kitchen and make me some tea. Bring an entire pot. And put a little feverfew in it."

Elladan started to close the door, but Elrond added, "And some lemon balm."

The younger Elf nodded, pulling the door to again, when his father concluded, "And make it strong. I'd rather wait a little longer for it, than have it be weak."

Elladan raised an eyebrow and a smirk curved his lips. "Anything else, Father?" he asked drolly.

"Please, Elladan… have a little pity here," Elrond added. "I refuse to beg and I'm not in the mood to order you to do it."

Elladan let out a quiet chuckle and receded into the hallway, and Elrond resumed resting his eyes, as he burrowed even deeper into the soft cushions of the sofa.

The Elf lord woke to the sound of the tray Elladan had been carrying being set upon the table beside his chair. He wanted to kiss his son when he spied the large teapot and two cups, but decided that such a gesture would be lost on the younger Elf. He sat up as Elladan poured.

"I know you had a mind healing session with Elrohir and Jeren this afternoon," Elladan said as he handed a cup of the dark, steaming liquid to his father. He'd made it to his father's order, with plenty of feverfew and lemon balm added. But he hadn't bothered putting any honey or cream in it, since his father's earlier cryptic demand had made him think that the Elf lord craved its healing properties, as well as its warmth, more than he'd wanted a mere drink to quench his thirst. But he'd brought along all the extra ingredients anyway, in case his father wanted them after he'd downed his first cup, as was his usual habit.

After taking two big swallows of tea—as much as he could manage without truly burning a hole in the roof of his mouth—Elrond set his cup on the tray beside him. "Yes, I did." He poured himself a little more tea, this time putting both honey and cream into it. Looking back at his son, who had sat down beside him, he added, "That is why I am in this state now." He took another large swallow of his tea. "Was it you who brought me to my chambers?"

"Yes, it was. I went seeking Elrohir, and found you alone in the room you use for mind healing. You were dead asleep." He made a bowl with his fingers, holding his teacup cradled in his hands. "I practically had to carry you here."

"My apologies if I didn't bear my own weight," Elrond said, "but I do not even remember getting up, much less walking. Thank you, Elladan."

"Are you well enough to answer some questions for me?" Elladan asked.

"I would prefer to put it off till another time..." he said hopefully.

"It won't take long, Father," Elladan promised. "I'll be out of here in mere moments."

Elrond gazed at him for a few seconds, trying to gauge Elladan's mood. It didn't appear as if he was merely being facetious, only wanting to bother him and for no good reason. He saw the intensity in his son's eyes and recognized the slight line between his brows as the one that showed itself when he had something of import on his mind; something that he judged, if not an emergency, then pressing at least.

"Perhaps I might answer a few," he said, hoping it would indeed be a few. While the Miruvor had helped his headache some, it had done nothing to abate his bone-numbing weariness, nor the roiling in his guts.

Elladan got up from the sofa, suddenly looking unsure of himself. Elrond frowned, wondering just what this could be about, but he stayed silent, giving Elladan a chance to speak his mind.

"I'm very worried about Elrohir, Father," he finally said, placing his half empty cup on the tray. "He hasn't been himself since he was wounded by the poisoned arrow."

"In what way, Elladan?" Elrond asked.

Elladan sat back down beside his father, and if anything, the urgency in his expression had only increased. "You know about the bond Elrohir and I share…" he started.

Elrond smiled. "I know of it, son. And I also know of a language the two of you share that is all your own, as well." The older Elf shook his head slightly. "When you were small, your mother and I despaired that either of you would ever speak in a language any of us could understand."

Elladan grinned for a moment, but soon grew serious once more. "The hallucinations Elrohir had when he was under the poison's influence were horrific. My twin's subconscious mind was hard at work, forced by the poison's properties to imagine all the possible tortures Jeren might endure at the hands of Orcs. He couldn't control his end our bond, and I felt most of what he was feeling. I could have shut myself off from him and blocked a good deal of what he was projecting toward me, but my conscience wouldn't allow for that. He was suffering and I couldn't stand aside and protect myself while he was in such distress. So I continually sent back as much calming influence as I could, but I fear it did little good, until the poisons had finally left his system." He seemed to pause uncertainly, before he finished. "…_if_ they have left his system…"

Elrond's eyebrows shot up at his son's last remark, but he kept quiet. Elladan looked at his hands as he paused, as if he were again reliving the nightmares he'd felt from his brother through their bond.

"Go on," Elrond said softly after a few moments, wanting to break the spell Elladan seemed to be under. He wanted to help this son, who most people had labeled as 'the selfish twin'. The one who charged full-bore into anything he wanted, never thinking of those he might be stepping on in the process. But Elrond knew him differently. Yes, Elladan had a forceful nature; but he had a kind heart beneath all his brashness. Elrond smiled, as he thought about how Elladan had come by it honestly. He was ever amazed at how very alike this son was to him. Elrond had, over the millennia, been successful in curbing most of this tendency in himself. But when things of import sometimes reared their ugly heads, he would react instinctively, in the very way his son did in most of his doings. But Elladan was very young yet, and in the scheme of things, there was still plenty of time for him to curb this impulse in himself as well.

Elladan looked at his father's face carefully, seeming to try and judge whether he should bring this next subject up at all. But he appeared to decide that whatever it was that was bothering him was of too much importance to keep to himself, so he forged on. "He also must have had some hallucinations of… Mother…"

He waited several seconds to see how his father might react to hearing about his wife. As a rule, those in the family didn't ordinarily speak overmuch about Celebrian—it made them all miss her that much more keenly.

But Elrond kept his emotions in check, even though hearing his wife's name suddenly had him remembering what he'd experienced this afternoon—the dream or whatever it was that he'd shared with Jeren and Elrohir. Up until now, his physical misery had kept it all at bay.

"And?" Elrond finally prompted, trying not to influence Elladan's words by showing how much it hurt to hear his wife's name spoken out loud. He'd seen her with his own eyes this afternoon—held her in his arms; kissed her.

"That hallucination must've been beautiful, Father, at least until the end. The joy in his heart was indescribable. But it was quite brief, and at the end of it all, he was very sorrowful—at least until he woke up. He has seemed fine to me these past few days; almost back to himself, both mentally and physically.

"But this afternoon, when he and Jeren went with you into the mind healing room—I truly didn't think to feel anything. I never even knew it when he'd had mind healing sessions with you in the past. So I expected more of the same. But that isn't what I got…"

He rose from the couch again and walked slowly toward the table where the teapot sat. He ran a finger around the rim of the cup he'd placed beside it. "I cannot even explain what happened this afternoon, Father. I wasn't in trance or asleep or even walking the dream paths, but I was suddenly transported into a dream with Elrohir and our mother. It was just the two of us with her, Father, even though they acted as if I wasn't there—they apparently couldn't see me." He paused, and Elrond watched the transformation of his son's face, his expression going from one of concern to one of wonder—and wistfulness.

Then Elladan looked into Elrond's eyes and said, "I shouldn't be surprised by this, but Elrohir's subconscious mind had her looking like she did before—" He broke off abruptly, unwilling to mention his mother's ordeal at the hands of Orcs. "Before." He'd said the word with finality, ending the statement. He cleared his throat; his voice had started to quaver. "Even with a portrait of her in my room, I'd somehow forgotten how very beautiful she was…"

Elladan turned away for a moment, but not before Elrond saw the pain on his face. When he turned back to his father again that emotion was gone, and it had been replaced by one that appeared to be acceptance. "There wasn't much to the dream, really. She greeted him, he hugged her; he held her close for a few moments, and that was it. And then suddenly I was no longer in the dream, even though I could feel it through our bond. I could tell that it must have been the same as before, because I could feel the same emotions coming from him. He was overjoyed at first—filled with love and hope—only to be despondent in the end. And the sad part is, I do not know how it ended—either time.

"But I fear he is losing his grip on reality, Father. He is dreaming, when there is no true reason for doing so. Dreaming—as… as a Human might…"

His eyes searched his father's face, as if looking for a truth he desperately needed. "He hasn't chosen, has he, Father?"

Elladan started pacing, his agitation—and yes, fear—clearly visible in every movement he made. Words began pouring out of him, as if some dam had broken and they were flowing in currents and eddies that he could not control.

"I'm not ready to make such a vital decision. I didn't think he was, either. And I would think I would be the first to know about something like this—if he had chosen. But he's dreaming—and unless this round of poisons he was exposed to has damaged something in his mind, what else could it be?"

He glanced at his father, but kept on speaking, his words coming rapidly, his voice sounding almost as if emotion had overwhelmed him. "He may be trying to keep it from me, afraid of how I will respond to the news, but knowing Elrohir, he would have told you immediately, because he would have felt that responsibility keenly.

"I realize I am not the most important person to him anymore, Jeren is. That does hurt—badly—yet I think I've been up to the task of not letting him know that. But I never dreamed he would choose without even consulting me…"

Elrond had risen, as difficult as that was, and had taken hold of his son's arms at the shoulders, stopping him where he stood. "Elladan…"

When the younger Elf didn't stop speaking, Elrond said his name louder, giving him a small shake, trying to get his full attention.

And he received it in a way he'd never expected. Elladan fell into his arms, and all Elrond could do was hold his son. Elladan's fingers were twined stiffly in the fabric of his father's shirt, and he was trembling with the effort it took to keep control.

It was obvious to Elrond that this distress his son was feeling had been building over time. His arms tightened on Elladan, hoping to convey his love and care, and also his sincerest empathy, but after only seconds ticked by, the younger Elf took hold of himself and pushed slightly away.

"I am sorry, Father…" he said without looking at Elrond. "I know this is the last thing you need to deal with when you are feeling so ill."

The Elf lord smiled and pulled a reluctant Elladan back into his arms. He stood there, holding his grown son for a minute or so, and then released the younger Elf to stand on his own.

"Ease your mind, Elladan," Elrond said with a subtle smile, and he gave a tiny pat to this twin's face. "As far as I know, your brother has not chosen Humanity. You would have heard my roar throughout the halls of Imladris had he informed me of such a tragedy." As he put his arm around Elladan's shoulders and led him back to the sofa, he had no qualms about the wording of his comment. He'd meant only to give comfort, but had been unable to keep himself from sneaking in a warning to his son. The Choice was ever a fret and a bother to Elrond.

He invited Elladan to sit and then did so himself. "Yet it is time you were told of what has transpired," he said, expecting—and receiving—an affronted glare from the younger Elf. He held up his hand for peace, saying, "Your brother has not informed you of this, because it is something that, as you said, happened first when he was in the throes of hallucination, and he truly did not remember it.

"However, Jeren did…"

Elladan's glare turned somewhat quizzical and Elrond admitted, "Something rather remarkable has happened, yet I don't know quite how to tell you about it without sounding as if I've taken a sharp turn around the bend."

"Just tell me this—is it good or bad?" Elladan asked, his face showing worry again.

"Rest assured, it is good," Elrond said, allowing himself to smile, even though his heart was breaking with every thought he had of Celebrian—who was alive, well, vibrant—but across the sea in Valinor.

Elrond started at the beginning, telling Elladan about the first dream that Elrohir and Jeren had had together, his conversation with Jeren about it—including the fact that she described to him a pendent that no one else besides him and Celebrian knew of—and continued on until he reached the events of this afternoon. Elladan was in turns confused and in need of clarification, and then seemingly irritated by the slowness with which the story unfolded. But Elrond kept plodding on, telling Elladan about what he and his twin and Jeren had experienced today. He told him how real it had been; how he'd felt as if he'd been physically transported to Valinor, and how, when he'd touched his wife, she'd been as real and solid as Elladan was, sitting here beside him now. He left out the details of what he and Celebrian had discussed, not having the heart to speak of it yet; not knowing if he'd ever be able to share it with anyone…

"You were right—that does seem a fantastical tale, and if anyone else had told it to me, I probably would not have believed it," Elladan said when Elrond finally paused.

"I cannot explain how this 'dream' came about once, much less twice, and I can only speculate on how you were caught up in this afternoon's venture."

"It must have something to do with my bond with Elrohir, but this is indeed the first time I've ever experienced anything of this sort." He looked at his hands, his fingers entwined between his knees. "I wish I could have been there for the entire thing; in the dream or vision—whatever it was—but in Valinor, along with you and Elrohir and—with mother. I do miss her…"

"As do we all, son," Elrond said softly. "But put joy into your heart, because she is well. She said she was cured in Valinor, although she did not say how or by whom."

Elrond went to pour another cup of tea, but alas, the pot was empty.

"Would you like more, Father? I will be happy to go fetch you some; and some food as well. I think we probably have missed the evening meal by now."

"I think you are most certainly right, son," Elrond replied. "But, no. I require no more tea; and my appetite is nil. I couldn't choke down food, even if Bellasiel was tempting me with some of her berry tarts."

Elladan smiled. "That would be some serious nausea, if you could not find it in yourself to eat some of Bellasiel's sweets." But he quickly grew thoughtful again.

Elrond started to rise, but the look on his son's face made him pause. His fatigue had increased, to an almost unbearable intensity. He'd thought that if he got to his feet, Elladan might take the hint and make himself scarce. But the younger Elf's expression was so stricken that Elrond couldn't move. Then Elladan began to speak.

"There's something that I've often wished I had apologized to you for," he said, his eyes sad.

Elrond could see that the talk of Celebrian had made Elladan think back, probably to a time when she was still with them. He very much did not want to reminisce. _Not tonight..._

"Whatever it is," he said, "there's no need. I'm sure you told me in your own way, without words."

"No, not this, Father," he asserted. "I'm talking about my behavior since Mother left for Valinor."

At his father's smile, he quickly added, a small grin on his lips, "Not that my behavior before she left was stellar at all times, but—" He sobered again. "It's been since she's been gone that I've been at my worst, especially right after she left. I treated you as no son should ever treat his father." He glanced up into Elrond's eyes. "I thought when I left on that first Orc hunt that I probably wouldn't be welcomed back into your home. I never asked your forgiveness. But I'm asking it now."

Sudden tears stung the Elf lord's eyes at this son's move to humble himself. Elladan was never humble, so this blatant show of remorse was almost more than Elrond could bear. Unsurprisingly, the events of the day, as well as his weariness, had his usual defenses down. He smiled at his son. "All is forgiven, Elladan," he said softly.

They looked into each other's eyes for several seconds, seeming to want to say more, but both stayed quiet, until finally Elladan got up from his chair.

"Father, thank you for taking the time to speak with me this evening. I knew you were feeling poorly, but I persisted. I am sorry I am so insistent all the time…"

"I am not, son," Elrond said, rising too. "Being insistent and persistent gets things done, and we are coming to a period in our lives when time will always seem short."

"Are you speaking now about the mysterious message that Mother gave to Elrohir and Jeren?"

"I think I must be," Elrond said, his brow furled with what looked to be puzzlement, "although my thoughts are growing cloudy with all this fatigue. But let me just say for now that I have 'seen' things. And when your mother mentioned war and strife, I felt a tremor in my soul. That is all I can say at present…"

"Then let me leave you to rest," Elladan said. "You look exhausted. Do you need help getting to bed?"

Elrond frowned, although he was truly trying to lighten the mood. "Do I look old and frail of a sudden?" he asked, but quickly added, "On second thought, do not answer that… But no, I need no assistance. Go and find Elrohir, if he's awake, and let him tell you of the dream himself. I know he regrets that you could not have been there with him when he saw your mother, and he will probably try and make up for that by giving you copious details."

"I look forward to it," Elladan said. "Have a good night."

Elrond's hand shot out, belying Elladan's previous comments about his seeming frailty, and he grabbed his son's arm and pulled him close. Elladan embraced his father, holding him tightly for several seconds, before he finally let go.

"Good night, Father…"

He walked out the door, closing it softly.

"Good night, son…" Elrond said to the empty space. He blew out the lamp beside the sofa and went into his bedchamber. He stripped his clothes off, leaving them in an uncharacteristic heap on the floor, and climbed into bed.

He lay there thinking of his wife, whom he loved more than any other soul, wishing to walk the dream paths with her tonight.

But against his wishes he dropped off to sleep again within minutes.

A dreamless sleep…

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Elladan walked down the hallway to the stairs, but instead of going down them and to the kitchen for something to eat—since he'd missed evening meal—he paused, thinking about what his father had suggested to him. He could go to Elrohir now and see if he would discuss the dream they'd all had, but still he hesitated.

Since his twin had bonded with Jeren, Elladan mostly steered clear of them when they might be in their rooms. There was always the chance that Jeren would be there alone, and he wanted there to be no misunderstandings between him and his brother, if Elrohir were to chance upon him and his wife alone together. Yes, they'd discussed this—Elladan had even allowed Elrohir complete access to his thoughts through their bond, so that Elrohir could see for himself how Elladan felt about Jeren. But still, the situation was uncomfortable for him. No, Elladan always waited for an invitation; he never showed up at their door without one.

He knew he could reach inward and learn what he wanted to know—exactly where Elrohir was at the moment—but chances were that Elrohir and Jeren were in bed by now—or still were—since they'd been the victims of their father's healing sleep today. He didn't want to know about it if Elrohir and Jeren were otherwise occupied.

_Now that was a ludicrous thought. _As exhausted as their father was, Elrohir was bound to be in the same condition. And Jeren would surely still be asleep. But…

He shook his head, stopping this mental debate and descended the stairs, walking the rest of the way to the kitchen. He could talk to Elrohir tomorrow. For now, he was ravenous!

Before he pushed through the swinging door, he heard noise coming from within. That was a good thing… If Bellasiel was in there, she would be happy to be of service. And she always brought out things she'd hidden for a later time when it was either of the twins that had come for food between meals. And she always fed them as if they were poor, starving waifs, seemingly saving her best for them.

But when he entered the room, it wasn't the head cook that he found, it was Elrohir, about to bite into a sandwich he'd obviously just fixed for himself. He finished taking the bite and slowly put his sandwich down on the plate before him.

Elladan couldn't help but chuckle, because Elrohir looked very much like the proverbial child caught in an act of extreme mischief.

"It's only me, Elrohir," Elladan said, even though he understood why his brother had had such a reaction. His twin had seen their mother this afternoon—and Elladan hadn't. He could clearly feel Elrohir's guilt about that through their bond, even though Elrohir didn't know that Elladan had already learned of the dream. "I promise I will not tell Bellasiel that you have pilfered the squab she was saving for a pie on the morrow."

Elrohir started to smile, but then his face fell into a look of disgust. "Squab pie? I think I'd rather eat eel."

"And when have you ever eaten eel?" Elladan asked with a laugh. "That might be a delicacy the Easterlings prefer, but I can't say that I've ever heard of anyone I know eating eel."

"Exactly my point," Elrohir said, taking a few steps toward his brother. "No one with any sense of taste would ever let such an animal past his lips—cooked or no. I've seen an eel—a street vendor in Gondor was hawking it with the rest of his catch; very disgusting creatures that will never make the sojourn into _my_ mouth for a meal. And they look as if they might taste almost as bad as squab does, which, if you will take a look, isn't what I'm eating at all." Elrohir had spread the bread apart, showing the sandwich was made of chicken.

"Well, whatever it is, why do you not make one of those for me? I'm starving."

"You didn't eat at evening meal?" Elrohir asked him. "Why not? I thought that Jeren and Father and me would be the only ones not eating this evening."

"That's where I've _been_, Elrohir_—_with Father," Elladan said, as if he were explaining it to someone who was obviously less than intelligent. Feeling badly for using such a condescending tone with his twin, and not liking that the emotion had come from his jealousy, he said, this time his voice much more even and kind, "Father and I both missed the evening meal, although truthfully, he didn't miss it very much."

Elrohir's faltering smile fell away, even in the face of Elladan's weak jest. "He told you about the dream?"

"Yes," Elladan said, trying hard not to look as hurt as he felt. "He said you all had some sort of dream, which somehow transported you to Valinor, where Mother is, and that she had a message for you and Jeren." He stopped for a moment, his eyes growing intense. "Did she mention me? Am I wrong in supposing that when she told you this message, she was including me as well?"

"I thought that all along," Elrohir admitted, although truthfully, Elladan could feel through their bond that his brother was plainly revealing he'd thought no such thing. He didn't have time to wonder at Elrohir's sudden laxity where their link was concerned, as his twin plowed on. "It never occurred to me that she was not meaning for you to be involved in it. She knows you and I are always together, so she could not have meant anything different."

"That was certainly true when she left," Elladan said thoughtfully, mulling the situation over in his mind. "We were always together back then." He didn't know what to think about Elrohir's barefaced lie, but decided not to pursue it for the moment. It probably had to do with Elrohir's newfound bond with Jeren and his guilt over his wife replacing his brother in his priorities.

"I asked Father if he knew anything about this mysterious message that Mother had for you and Jeren, and he was very vague in his answer." Elladan then explained to his brother the conversation he'd had with their father. "In conclusion, he said he has 'seen' some things, yet hasn't thus far been able to make sense of them."

They stood there looking at each other for several seconds. Elrohir's guilt was a palpable thing, so, trying to be kind, Elladan broke the spell they seemed bound by. But first he schooled his voice into a tone that held no hint of resentment. "I'm eager to hear more about it all from your viewpoint, but not until I have something to eat."

Elrohir tore his sandwich in two, giving Elladan the side that did not have the bite taken out of it. He then took two apples from a bowl on one of the three large work tables that graced the room. "Come along to my chambers, and I'll try to tell you what you seek to know."

Elladan eyed the loaf of bread that Elrohir had cut the slices from for his sandwich, and, picking up the plate it was on, as well as the knife and a dish of butter, he followed his brother out of the kitchen. They made it back upstairs quickly, and were just as quickly settled in the sitting room outside Elrohir's bedchamber, Elladan on the large leather chair and Elrohir on the sofa.

"Jeren?" Elladan asked inquiringly, as he poured wine for them both from the bottle on one of the tables there.

"Slumbering away, as you would expect. Father's healing sleep plays havoc with a Human's ability to stay awake after."

"I would say it plays havoc with an Elf's ability to stay awake, too," Elladan said sensibly. He'd not commented on Elrohir's appearance; his twin must know he looked as if he'd not rested in several days.

And Elrohir didn't comment; he just took another mouthful of his sandwich, which he'd now eaten to one final bite. He chewed, looking thoughtful, so Elladan took the opportunity to tell him what their father had explained to him about the dreams.

He paused to finish his half of the sandwich, and then sliced himself a piece of bread, even taking the time to butter it. He then let drop the amazing revelation that he'd been in Elrohir's latest dream, too, albeit briefly.

Elrohir swallowed, almost choking on the last bite of his sandwich. He took a quick gulp of wine. "What? What did you say, Elladan?" He was almost accusing; almost disbelieving.

Elladan's lips curved up into a sardonic half-smile. "Really, Elrohir?" he said, trying not to sound quite as sarcastic as he was feeling. "I am asked to believe that you, Father and Jeren had a dream _together_, but I am not allowed to ask you to believe that I might have been in one of them, too?"

Elrohir's raised brows and slight smile admitted without words that his twin's point had been made—and taken. "You are right, Brother," he said. "If you say it is so, I believe you. As you've just alluded, we've all been assailed by strange happenings of late."

"Thank you," he said with a small dip of his head. "I am assuming that our bond was at work in this phenomenon. There is no other explanation."

"True…"

"Now give me details, Elrohir," Elladan said, and then he sat back, taking a bite out of his piece of bread.

Elrohir looked thoughtful again, as if he didn't quite know where to start, so Elladan spoke even with his mouth half full. "Tell me about Mother."

"If I repeat what Father has already told you, please don't let me ramble on," Elrohir said at first, as if he were stalling. Elladan didn't much know what to make of his twin's hesitancy at filling in the blanks he needed filled.

Elladan waited for his twin to start, but Elrohir suddenly seemed to take an unusual interest in the wine in his glass, swirling the claret liquid around and watching its wave-like movement inside the vessel.

As Elladan waited, Elrohir still seemed strangely hesitant, and Elladan couldn't figure out why. His twin had been there directly, able to touch their mother—speak to her. And now he was hedging? Surely he could understand Elladan's interest—feel his heartache through their bond at not being able to be there. If that was so, then he could also feel his growing frustration. It was as if he didn't know Elladan at all—didn't know that much more of this evading would have his twin up in his face and demanding the details in a very loud voice.

Elladan swallowed and took a drink of his wine, calming himself and reaffirming his hold on the bond he had with his brother. "When I was in the dream with you both, I saw her greet you and embrace you. She was wearing a green dress and she looked beautiful. Tell me about that."

"You want me to expound on her wardrobe?" Elrohir asked in a dubious tone.

"Of course I don't want you to tell me about her wardrobe!" Elladan said, finally exploding. "I want to know what she said to you after she greeted you. I saw that—I need more, Elrohir!"

"I am sorry, Brother," Elrohir said in an uncertain voice.

It was then that Elladan realized why Elrohir was being so slow. He remembered the emotions he'd felt through their bond before and during the dream, and the last feeling he'd gotten from Elrohir had been sadness; utter sadness.

Elladan got up from the chair and sat beside his brother on the sofa. Now he knew why Elrohir had been stalling. The thought of remembering their mother was too much for him at the moment.

But where did that leave Elladan? Out in the cold, that's where. With no comfort to be had. He'd been reminded of his mother in an unintentionally brutal way today. He'd seen her before him, seeming as real as if he could reach out and touch her, but it had been Elrohir she'd touched; it had been his twin that she'd spoken to. His father had said it was real—and he'd been excluded for whatever the reason. It made him so angry he wanted to strike someone. But he knew that that someone could not be his brother. Elrohir was doing the best that he could.

He would just have to wait…

But before he could apologize, Elrohir began to speak.

"At first I thought I was seeing a ghost…" he said, and though he was talking to Elladan, his voice sounded disembodied, like he was trying to distance himself from this remembrance, and his eyes stared at nothing across the room. "But when I touched her, she was all too real. She was beautiful, Elladan, just as you saw in the dream. Alive, energetic and, for the most part—happy. She was soft—just as I recalled her being when we were younger—and having her hold me made me feel like an Elfling again."

"I'm sorry, Elrohir…" Elladan started, completely ashamed at his outburst.

"She acted just as she always did, before she was stolen from us. It seemed as if there was nothing she did not know; no problem she couldn't solve. She had no doubt about herself or us or anything at all... So confident. So sure… You remember how she was…" Elrohir's sorrowful eyes then sought his twin's.

"Yes…"

Elrohir fell quiet then, his face a mask of grief. Elladan leaned toward him, engulfing his twin into his embrace.

"Thank you, Brother," he said hesitantly. "I know that was hard for you, remembering it and telling me about it so soon. My appreciation is boundless." He released his brother enough so that he could look into his eyes.

_Ilúvatar_, he wanted so much more than these few meager words his brother had been able to force himself to say! He wanted to hold his mother, speak to her; hear her voice as she spoke only to him! Hear her laughter… but it was not Elrohir's fault that he had been excluded…

"I wasn't there and that pains me. I know I seem hard and thoughtless—as if I have no feelings for others sometimes…" He gave a huff of a laugh. "You've just had proof of it—I grew angry when I couldn't have my way—right at the minute I wanted it. But you know I would have given whatever it took to have been there in the dream with you all today—been a full participant, I mean, and not just a momentary bystander. What I would have given to hold our mother close…"

"Yes, Brother, I do know that; our bond gives me tastes of your true feelings and motives. I know you do not mean ill." Elrohir pushed his twin gently away and stood. "I deeply regret that you could not have been there with us, but it was out of my control. For now," he said, his voice flat, "if you don't mind, I'm extremely tired. I think I'll go to bed."

Elladan didn't say anything else, he just nodded his agreement. Elrohir opened the door to his bedchamber and slipped inside, closing it gently. Elladan sat where he was, thinking of all that had transpired this day.

He'd learned a lot this evening, that was for sure: that his mother was well in Valinor, and that Elrohir had actually touched her! And he himself had seen her, looking as if she were a few feet away and not leagues and leagues across the sea from him. But he'd trodden over two people he loved very much in order to get what he wanted—again. _Would he ever change?_

And the longer he sat there and thought—about so many things—the sadder he became. He leaned his head against the back of the sofa and tears fell silently down his cheeks.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

It was the next evening and Elrond still hadn't emerged from his rooms. He'd remained behind closed doors for the entire day, and when evening meal had come and gone, one of his oldest friends couldn't leave him alone for a moment longer. Glorfindel had gone first to Elrohir, knowing they'd had a mind healing session the day before, and he'd asked the younger Elf if his father had been made ill by the strain of it all.

Elrohir had told Glorfindel what he knew, from the first dream he'd had with Jeren all the way through the second. While the remembrance of the dreams was heartbreaking and still painful, Elrohir told him everything, because he was concerned about his father as well. The only thing he did not tell the ancient Elf lord was what had transpired between his parents during the dream—because that he did not know.

So Glorfindel had gone to the kitchen and had requested that Bellasiel prepare a tray for Elrond, and when she had it filled to his satisfaction, he carried the tray through the hallways and up the stairs to Elrond's chambers with Bellasiel trailing behind him, protesting all the while that it was her job to carry it. She'd knocked on the sitting room door, and when they received no answer they entered. Glorfindel had then placed the tray on the table beside the sofa, and when Bellasiel had departed, he'd opened the bedchamber door and had carried the tray further inside.

The room was dim; no lamps had been lit, and Elrond was standing on his veranda, both hands on the railing, looking out into the dark of the valley at nightfall. He was much as he'd been the night before, again wearing plain leggings with no boots, his shirt loose and billowing in the evening breeze. His hair was in one plain braid, trailing down his back. He turned when Glorfindel came inside, a frown planted firmly on his face as if he were ready to slay whoever was disturbing his tormented peace.

Glorfindel ignored the icy stare of his friend. "You did not come to your evening meal, so I brought it to you." He placed the tray on the table that sat on the veranda. "Come, Elrond. It is time for you to eat."

Elrond turned back to face the darkened valley again. "Of all the people I'd hoped not to see…" His voice was a whisper and very weary, sounding as if the weight of the world was on him, but the Arms Master understood Elrond's reluctance to see him and did not take offense at his words.

"I'm not hungry, Glorfindel. Had I been, I would have attended the meal in the Dining Hall."

Glorfindel rolled his eyes, even though Elrond didn't see it. "Are you still ill from the mind healing you did yesterday?"

Elrond didn't answer; he merely shook his head.

"It is good I'm an Elf," Glorfindel quipped. "I have no need of light to see your gestures, and unless my hearing is failing me, I can barely hear the rocks in your head rolling around as you shake it at me."

Elrond couldn't help himself; he smiled as his chin dipped to his chest. He turned around to face his friend, leaning against the railing behind him.

"I truly want to be alone, Glorfindel. Why can you not just honor my wishes?"

"If I thought it was good for you to be by yourself so much, that is exactly how I would leave you—alone. I wouldn't be here." He paced slowly toward the railing to stand beside his friend. He, too, leaned his hips on the bannister, and then he crossed his arms over his chest. "I've spoken to Elrohir; he told me all he knew."

"Then you know I have reason to be grieving," Elrond said, his voice flat. "Now please—leave me."

Glorfindel didn't answer at first. He continued to stand with his back to the railing, but now he looked to be deep in thought. Elrond appeared as if he might throw his friend bodily from the room, but just as he seemed like he was about to take action, Glorfindel spoke.

"Tell me about her, Elrond," he said. "Was she well? Was she full of the fire that was always within her? Or was she still the ghostly shell she was when we watched her sail?" With every word he spoke, Glorfindel could see Elrond flinch, as if Glorfindel were physically assaulting him, instead of beating upon his heart with mere words.

Elrond said nothing then, but neither did he make any move to rid himself of the offending Elf in his room. His face was set in stony silence, his eyes so sad it was painful for Glorfindel to look upon him.

The Arms Master could see that he'd gotten through Elrond's defenses, but he could not guess whether the Lord of Imladris would give him any answers. And truthfully Glorfindel did not need the answers—he only wanted some sort of response; some reply from Elrond that would give him the chance to speak of his wife—so that the grief he was feeling might be eased a little.

"Elrond…" Glorfindel prodded. When his comment again went unanswered, he persisted. "_Tell_ _me_, Elrond—"

"—she was beautiful and as full of life as she always has been!" Elrond spat. "She was soft and supple in my arms. Her voice was music in my ears. Her lips…" He broke off, not really weeping, but as close to it as he ever came. He looked down, trying to compose himself.

When he felt as if his voice would not tremble, he asked, "Why are you doing this to me, Glorfindel?"

"You know why, my friend," he answered softly. "I will not have this fester in you as it did after she sailed. It took this same sort of pushing then, only then I waited too long. Your recovery was too slow, and as a result much more painful than it had to be."

"So you will pierce me with words and make me recall a most beautiful dream—one that cuts my heart out when I think of it?" Elrond shook his head slowly. "You are cruel, Glorfindel. Very cruel."

"Cruel like a healer that amputates a leg without some sort of pain relief when none is at hand, but the wounded is bleeding to death? Because that is exactly what I am doing, only I am cutting grief from your heart, and there is no pain-relieving herb that can dull that sort of ache." Glorfindel reached a hand out toward his friend, but did not touch him; he simply let it drop after a second or two. He was again thoughtful…

"Elrond, why do you not just sail?"

There was another long silence when neither Elf spoke, but then Elrond's smile became bittersweet. "You know I cannot, Glorfindel," he answered, as if it were common knowledge that no one would question.

"Why?"

"I know you aren't dense, my friend. Why do you ask me questions that you already know the answer to?"

"If it's because of that blasted ring that you wear, hand it off to someone else already! Go be with your wife, where you belong."

One of Elrond's brows rose slowly in surprise. "And who would you have me hand it off to—you? Would you wear it and learn to wield its power? You are a warrior, Glorfindel, not a healer."*****

"You were a warrior once, too, Elrond," Glorfindel answered.

"I was never the warrior that you are, friend," Elrond answered truthfully. "I could wield a sword, but my heart was never truly in it. And besides, that is only part of the ring's power. Its other qualities pertain to time, and the only way you deem the usage of time worthwhile is if you can forge forward ever more quickly. That is not the way the rhythm of time in Rivendell works. You know this…"

"I hate seeing you this way, Elrond!" Glorfindel said vehemently. "And I could no more wield that ring of power than—Erestor could. He is a scholar who turns green when confronted with even a drop of blood, and _I_ have no compassion for anyone's whining." He looked at his friend and received the small smile he was hoping to prompt. Then he added, his voice much quieter, "It was given to you for a reason—because you are the one who must bear it. But I cannot help it if it pains me to see you grief-stricken!"

Elrond heaved a deep sigh, not wanting the burden of another's anguish. He was already grieved enough himself.

"Do not worry for me, Glorfindel. I will eat when I'm hungry; I will rest when I need to." He turned to face his friend then, making Glorfindel meet his eyes. "I will not waste away from want of Celebrian. I miss her—acutely, right now. But this will pass, just as it did when she first left."

"Bonded couples should not be parted," Glorfindel said sullenly.

Elrond chuckled softly, prompting a glare from his friend, so he held up a hand for peace. "I doubt that anyone would have ever thought to utter the word 'romantic' when describing you." He smiled widely.

"That is right! No one would!" Glorfindel said heatedly. "Least of all should you!"

They both stood now in companionable silence, something Glorfindel took as a good sign. At least he wasn't in imminent danger of being thrown out of Elrond's chambers.

"You speak of me paying too high a price for a duty that was given to me," Elrond said warily. "Yet you have lived longer than most—twice if my calculations are correct—and you have never bonded before—you've never even come close. Why is that Glorfindel?"

The Arms Master sighed, a sound someone who may have suddenly been caught up in the past might make. "I have had responsibilities, too, Elrond," he replied, and if one would have been listening intently, as Elrond was, one might have heard regret in the ancient Elf's voice.

"But to bypass personal happiness not once, but twice, because you were thinking of others, my friend. When is that going to stop, Glorfindel?"

Glorfindel looked Elrond in the eyes, but didn't say a word.

"So you _do _understand having responsibilities that just cannot be set aside for personal reasons," Elrond said pointedly.

Glorfindel continued to study his friend from the corners of his eyes. "I could hurt you, you know."

Elrond laughed out loud then, and walked toward the table where the tray rested. He picked up the cloth that covered the food on the different plates, bending over to catch the beguiling aroma of the berry tarts that were for dessert.

Glorfindel tried to hide the smile he wore at his small success. He sat at the table and reached for one of the plates, but Elrond slapped his hand away and sat down, too. Elrond saw the squab***** pie and wrinkled his nose, handing the plate to Glorfindel. But the ancient Elf lord turned it away with an upraised palm and reached for the plate with the bread instead. Elrond grabbed it before Glorfindel could escape with it, taking the plate away from his friend and setting it out of his reach.

Elrond stopped what he was doing and looked into Glorfindel's eyes again, trying to convey his earnestness. "I am going to eat, which is what you came in here to ensure. Now I really do wish to be alone, Glorfindel."

"I know, Elrond," the ancient Elf replied as he chewed on a piece of roasted potato he'd filched from one of the plates. "And I will be here with you throughout the length of the time you wish to be alone. We will be alone together." He rose up out of his chair just enough so that he could reach the plate of bread that Elrond had confiscated moments before.

Elrond shook his head, his expression weary. "Forever have you vexed me, friend."

"And forever do I hope to continue to vex you," Glorfindel replied as he tore a piece of the bread off and slathered it with fig preserves. "But I am grateful for every day granted to me that you can vex me in return."

Elrond smiled and nodded his head. "I am grateful for that as well."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren traced the bone along Elrohir's jawline with her fingers as they lay together on the sofa in their bedchamber. She was sprawled atop him, covered in the sheet from their bed. They had made love earlier, and then had gotten up to lie on the couch. Even though the chair they were on was recessed back into the room, insuring their privacy, Jeren never felt at ease being naked in front of the open doorway. So she had pulled the sheet from the bed when she'd risen, and it now covered her back and legs.

The two of them were lazy and lethargic after having spent the whole of yesterday recuperating from being in one of Elrond's deep healing sleeps. Truthfully, Elrohir did not need such excessive recovery time, and Jeren could have pushed herself to be up and at work, but they were both still burdened by the revelations of the dream—or at least Elrohir was, and the closeness of their bond meant that Jeren was as well.

"I am sorry, Elrohir…" Jeren said softly, kissing the side of his mouth.

He smiled, his eyes telling her just how much he loved her. "And what are you sorry for, Jeren?" He lifted his hand and ran the backs of his fingers along her cheek.

"I am sorry your mother had to leave so soon when we were in Valinor," she replied, laying her face against his chest. "I know that was hard for you, and it was one of the reasons I didn't want to put you through experiencing the dream again." She raised her face to look into his eyes. "But that was the only reason. You agree you needed to hear what she told us, do you not?"

"I do agree," he admitted. "I never would have gotten the urgency of her message had I not heard it from her own lips. No wonder you would not let it be."

"Yes, now you understand," she said, sighing as she put her head down again, closing her eyes as the skin of her face came in contact with that of his chest. She could hear his heart beating…

"…but still…" she said wistfully. "I would not have you saddened in this way were it not necessary. You know that, don't you?" She didn't look at him this time, because in a way she was very regretful she'd insisted he experience the dream again, and a guilt lay upon her heart that she could not shake. When she'd insisted he remember the dream, she'd only been thinking about the message and how glad he'd been to see his mother—she'd forgotten how despondent he was when Celebrian had gone.

He lifted her chin so that his eyes could meet hers. "Do not have regrets about it, wife of mine," he said gently. "I wouldn't have missed the experience for anything, for I treasure the chance to know that my mother is well and waiting for us all in Valinor." Then his voice took on a tone of amazement. "I _saw_ her, Jeren—I truly saw her; and I touched her as well! I don't know how it was possible, but it was. I have trouble believing it even now, but I wouldn't have missed it. For once, I am glad you were unrelenting."

She smiled as she laid her face back down on his chest. "I love you, Elrohir..."

She was quiet for several minutes, so quiet that Elrohir took a quick glance down into her face to see if she'd perhaps fallen asleep, but her eyes were open, and she appeared to be thinking. Her hair was loose and fell in dark ripples around them both. He ran his fingers through it, carefully working out knots as he did.

He felt her sigh and then she said, "When I think back over the past two years, how uncertain everything was for a time, it's hard to believe the way it all turned out. I've been happy and content for the first time in my life. I thought that I _was_ happy; that things were going the way I had planned for them to go. And then… I met Haleth… and she did what she did. And then, when I was crippled by an Orc, everything changed. Try as I might, I could not pull myself out of the melancholy Haleth's death had plunged me into, and the injury to my arm made me feel as if my life was over. But you have been with me through it all—helping me, loving me… From the first time we met, even…

"I don't know where I would be right now, had it not been you who cared for me. After the Orcs attacked me at the cabin, I mean. You told me your mother's story… It made all the difference, Elrohir. And then, when I was so low after my arm was injured, you told me the story of the woman you met when Orcs had taken you the first time—Riann was her name. I felt as if I'd been asleep and you had woken me up—"

She raised herself, her elbows to either side of him, to gaze into his eyes. "And then you told me of your love for me, and I realized that it had always been you, from the very beginning. I hadn't recognized it for what it was at first—but then, neither had you. I was too young at the time. How we fought and bickered…"

He laughed at the scowl on her face and pulled her back down until her head rested on his chest again. "And look at us now. This is how we should always be—together, skin to skin." He smoothed her hair away from her face, his hand trailing along her neck and then down her back.

"Yes," Jeren said, her face as serious as it could be, "we should stay right here forever." But then her smile cracked and they both began laughing, which quickly dissolved into passionate kisses.

"I would willingly take you back to our bed to finish this properly," Elrohir said with a sensual gleam in his eye, "but something tells me that your heart just isn't in it at the moment." He brushed a stray tendril of hair from her brow and kissed her softly.

She smiled. "I am obviously not holding my part of our bond tightly enough," she said with a grimace. She looked down at his chest for a moment, and then sought his eyes again. "There's just so much to think about," she admitted. "And to do and to plan, as well," she continued, as if there had been no pause in her speech. "I just don't know where to start, and that's frustrating the fire out of me!"

She suddenly sat up, drawing the sheet around her as she stood. "I feel as if there is no time, but my mind turns circles when I try to think it all through—when I try to decide what I should do about your mother's message. 'Do not sit idly by…' What do we make of it, Elrohir, when we don't even know where to begin? All the while, I keep feeling as if we should make great haste."

"Perhaps it is the subject that has you feeling edgy. Impending war is nothing to just brush aside, but it could be that it is still years and years away, and we need not make terrible haste now, we merely need be attentive," he said reasonably. "Maybe it is something besides the message that has you uneasy. I have never discounted the fact that you are Dúnedain, though I believe _you_ might forget it sometimes. Foresight is a well-documented trait of some of your people—perhaps it is manifesting itself in you now. Maybe Father could help you reach that part of yourself. After all, he has it, too."

She smiled but paced a few steps away, her head bowed as if she were thinking. "No thanks, Elrohir," she said, looking up at him then and shaking her head. "I am just now feeling like myself again, after my last dealings with him."

Elrohir chuckled and got up from the couch. Jeren blushed, but her eyes smoldered. "Husband, put on some clothes; in my present state of mind, I needs all my faculties about me, and your nakedness is very distracting."

He went to the bed and sat, pulling on his sheer sleeping trousers. He stood and walked toward her. She slowly closed the distance between them.

"That didn't help very much, Elrohir," she said, giving him a small kiss when she'd finally reached him. She then pulled the sheet she held a bit more tightly across her breasts and walked further out toward the veranda. She stopped well inside, still feeling naked, even though she was well covered.

"Mayhap you are right…" she said, her voice trailing off toward the end of her statement.

"Right about what?" he asked her, coming up behind her and dropping a kiss onto her bare shoulder.

"That I probably need to discuss this with your father. I, too, think this foresight 'thing' just might be coming alive in me. I've not mentioned this before because I have just been so overwhelmed with it all that I'd forgotten this part of the dream..."

She went on to explain the strange 'vision' she'd had as she'd stared into Celebrian's eyes—not once, but twice—and wondering just what it meant—all the different races meeting together for a common cause. "It could be that apart your father and I know nothing, but together we know much. Does that even make sense?"

He chuckled as he turned her around and ran his hands up and down her arms, as if to dispel a chill she was feeling. "It makes as much sense as anything else does!" She laughed and fell into his arms, and together they walked back into the center of the room.

"I'm hungry!" Jeren suddenly announced.

Elrohir shook his head as he smiled at her predictable stomach. "Well I'm certain we've missed morning meal by now," he said. "But perhaps we can persuade Bellasiel to feed us some crumbs in the kitchen." He looked at her from the corners of his eyes. "Unless you will leave it to me, and if that is the case, while you bathe, I can go fetch us a tray. We need not leave this room at all today, if you wish not to."

She smiled warmly at him. "As inviting as that is, I would like to speak to your father later; that is, if he has emerged from his rooms yet. But I will take you up on the bath and the tray. That does sound delightful!"

Elrohir was already dressing, and without bothering with boots of any kind, he opened the door, about to leave on his errand. "Then go get you busy—the sooner you are out of your bath, the sooner you can eat."

She laughed as he closed the door, but her smile quickly faded.

_Yes… She must speak to Lord Elrond. She knew that he somehow held the key._

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

After they'd eaten their late morning meal, Jeren and Elrohir made their way to Elrond's study. They had agreed beforehand that if he wasn't there, they would put off talking to him until he was. They would not seek him out, no matter how urgently they both might want to talk to him. He'd had quite a shock—seeing his wife, who he'd been parted from for so long—and then being forced to leave her in Valinor. He was very likely mourning her loss again, and neither of them was willing to approach him until he'd had a chance to make peace with those feelings.

But luck was with them and he was there. The study door was standing open, which was somewhat odd, and he wasn't in his usual place, hard at work at his desk with his nose in a book or a scroll. Instead he was at one of the windows, his hands clasped behind him, gazing out into the valley—the land that he'd founded millennia ago.

"Father, may we speak with you?" Elrohir asked quietly as he entered, and even before the Elf lord gave his permission, he'd closed the door behind them.

Elrond didn't turn at the sound of his son's voice, but he did answer him. "I don't know if that would be wise of me, Elrohir," he said, his tone ironic. "The last time the two of you asked such a thing, it did not turn out as I thought that it would."

Elrohir smiled at Jeren, but she glared at him, trying to get his attention. He ignored her when she tugged on his arm, attempting to stop their advance into the room, but he patted her hand in an effort to reassure her. She seemed baffled as to what his plan might be, because even from the few words Elrond had uttered so far, she seemed able to tell he was not his usual self. But even pulling on Elrohir's arm determinedly, she couldn't get him to turn around and leave. She gave him one final look—a look that plainly told him that she hoped he knew what he was doing, as they both approached the Elf lord's desk.

"No, it didn't turn out as either of us thought it might," Elrohir agreed. "It turned out much better than we'd ever dreamed it would, did it not?"

Elrond turned then, his expression an austere one, but after several long seconds passed, the corners of his mouth turned up so slightly it looked more like a grimace than a grin. "Yes, I suppose it did," he said, walking slowly toward the pair. "But it was heart wrenching, nonetheless."

The Elf lord was not in the best of moods; that was apparent to anyone who set eyes on his face. He appeared careworn, and sadness emanated from him. Pulling his chair away from his desk, he sat, indicating that the two of them should do likewise. Elrohir looked at Jeren then, his face revealing—finally—that he very well could have misjudged the situation; that perhaps it might have been a better idea to have walked away after all.

When everyone was seated, the Elf lord's bitter gaze settled on Jeren, and he asked, "What can I _possibly_ help you with today?"

Jeren tried not to feel wounded by his sarcasm, for sarcasm it was. She knew he was hurting, and even though it was inadvertent, what he was going through now was because of her determination in seeking answers for Elrohir. She felt it was her fault that his heart lay bleeding…

She looked at her husband then, hoping to find some hint as to the direction they should take now, all the while struggling not to show that the Elf Lord had cut her to the quick. But she could see in Elrohir's eyes that he was aware of her pain, and he turned back to face his father.

"That was beneath you," he said as he rose, pulling Jeren to her feet as well. "If you are not of the humor to speak with us yet, a simple 'not now, Elrohir' would have sufficed."

Elrond got up then, too, immediately contrite. Closing his eyes for a moment, he said, "Please accept my apologies. I thought I _was_ of the humor to face people today, but apparently I overestimated myself." He'd walked around his desk to Jeren, holding his arms out to her.

After looking hesitantly into his face—seemingly trying to judge if she should trust this show of peace—she relaxed into his embrace. He held her close for several minutes, stroking her braid. He then leaned back to look into her eyes. "Could you find it in your heart to forgive an old Elf his ill temper?"

She slowly smiled, trying very hard to keep the tears that stung her lids from falling. "Of course I can, Father." She looked into his eyes, her heart sore. "I _am_ sorry…"

Elrohir interrupted then, his words earnest, "Are you not glad you had the experience, Father? I certainly am. To know that Mother is well? To see her happy as she once was?"

Elrond nodded, as if he didn't trust himself to speak of it yet, and then he pulled Jeren close again, and in a slightly admonishing voice said, "You have nothing to be sorry for."

He let her go with a sad smile, which she returned. Jeren and Elrohir then resumed their seats. Elrond went back behind his desk, but before he sat, he leaned over, supporting his weight with his fingertips on the top of the desk. His head fell forward, his shoulders slumping as if under great weight, and he cleared his throat, but when he glanced back up at the pair, they could tell from his expression that he was trying very hard to steel his heart against the pain he was in.

Gazing at Jeren, he said, "You did exactly the right thing in forcing this issue. Yes, my heart aches for want of my wife, but that will ease with a little more time. As Elrohir has said, I am very grateful for having seen her at all. The joy at finding her happy and well is winning out over the sorrow of having to leave her there. However, I am much more at fault for being here prematurely than you are for not reading my mood a little better." His slight smile was genuine then. "I knew I was not ready to face the world, but I had the feeling that I did not have anymore time for such self-indulgence right now."

He stood up straight again, as if he were determined to put his feelings out of his mind and focus on the task at hand. "Elrohir needed to know of the message, and I also needed to know about all of this. Exactly _what_ I needed to know—and why—escapes me as yet, but that does not negate the feeling I have that know it I must."

He sat then and clasped his hands together, letting them lay atop his desk. "Now, how may I help you?" Gone was the sarcasm, and in its place was his usual interest when someone had come to him seeking his advice.

Elrohir looked at Jeren as if he wondered which of them should speak, so she took it upon herself to explain what they'd come for.

"I hate asking you about this, but…" Her discomfiture had her stammering. "We probably should have waited a few more days to speak to you about this, but—I am not giving Elrohir much peace when it comes to this subject, nor am I giving myself any peace over it, for that matter."

Elrond nodded in understanding. "You are speaking of the message that—Celebrian—gave to you." He'd said his wife's name as if it were blessed; a sacred word that one did not use carelessly. His brows rose as he continued, "I have been wondering about it as well."

"There's something I haven't told you about the dream," she admitted. "Something happened during both of them, but I had forgotten about it until just a little while ago, when Elrohir and I were discussing the message."

He scowled, but in puzzlement rather than in any sort of anger.

Jeren hurried on, telling the Elf lord what she'd told her husband earlier—about the strange vision she'd had in the dreams; the one in which every race she had ever known of was present—meeting for a common purpose.

"There were men—and Elves, of course, and—even Dwarves," she said.

Then her expression changed to one of surprise and bewilderment, as if she were shocked by what she was thinking, even before she'd had the chance to voice it. "And there were also Hobbits…" She looked at Elrond as she'd slowly said the last few words. "This is the first I've thought about the small ones." Wonder had crept into her voice. "I think the vision just clarified itself to me." Her eyes tracked to Elrohir's and then back to the Elf lord's. "Do you think I could be losing mind?"

Elrond smiled. "I doubt it. You're one of the most sensible people I've ever known. But I've been telling you that you must be one of the chosen ones of the Dúnedain, and this all but proves it. Foresight is creeping up on you. This is exactly how it made itself known to Estel."

Jeren's brows drew together as she wondered exactly what he meant, but he answered her before she could question him further. "Estel would be speaking of something, and as the words were leaving his mouth, you could tell that he was saying things he'd had no prior knowledge of—because he had not known of them before they came to him as he was talking the subject through. That happens to everyone, at one time or another, but this is a different thing—it comes as a vision, not just a thought. And that is what happened to you just now, is it not?"

Jeren's eyes widened with that last detail, acknowledging that what Elrond had said was exactly what had just occurred. "Well I wish it would hurry and hit me full force!" Jeren said heatedly. "There is so much that I need to know—so much I wonder about. But when I try to compel myself to make sense of this nonsense, all I get is more confused."

"As one who suffers this 'gift' myself, I can say that you are destined to stay that way," he told her bluntly. "You will continue to be confused. It picks and chooses its own time to reveal fragments of things, most of which do not make sense until after the fact."

"Then how is this 'gift' even useful?" Jeren asked, angry now—angry at this situation that was so frustrating to her.

He looked at her intently for mere seconds before saying, "Along with the baffling knowledge you suddenly become aware of, there is also a feeling in your gut that guides you—do not fight it, as most are wont to do. That is where its usefulness lies." He paused again, but then continued, "And do not be surprised when others notice your insight before you do." He'd finished his speech with a whimsical tone, eyebrows raised and a wry grin gradually forming on his lips.

A meaningful smile spread across Jeren's face when she said, "As Lord Glorfindel does with you." The Elf Lord chuckled as she stood.

"This 'foresight' barely seems helpful," she said, her scowl deepening, and a plaintive note stealing into her voice. She walked toward the windows behind his desk, looking out on the valley, but truly not seeing it. "And it seems as if it might be apt to drive one to madness!"

"There _are_ times…" Elrond said knowingly.

She turned back to the two Elves sitting at the desk. "So, Father, what do we do with this information? Where does this assembly of races I envisioned take place? And when? And why?"

His smile was a little melancholy. "I cannot tell you. But it will become clear with time."

Jeren shook her head in annoyance, but it didn't take long before she squared her shoulders, as if she readied herself for a long campaign. "Then in the meantime, what do we do? We cannot just sit here knowing that war is at hand. Doing nothing seems exactly the wrong thing to do. And it's my gut that is telling me this, Father. I am more unsettled now—after the second dream—than I was after the first, if that's possible. It's why I cannot let any of this be. And I'm driving not only myself insane, but your son as well."

The Elves both laughed, leaving Jeren to sulk in her momentary pique, but everyone came to attention when there was a brief knock at the door. Before Elrond had a chance to respond, Elladan came in breathlessly, giving an order over his shoulder to an unseen warrior of the Imladris force.

"Is Glorfindel in here with you father?" he'd asked, before he'd even glanced inside the study.

Elrond stood, his brows already drawing together in confusion. "No. What is it, Elladan?"

"He sent for me—I was told to meet him in here—and to be ready to ride."

Jeren suddenly bent over, covering her face with her hands, but as the silent seconds ticked by with everyone present watching her in horror, she fell from her chair onto her knees, curling into a ball at Elrohir's feet, her arms thrown over her head as if she were warding off some sort of attack.

Elrohir reached for her, kneeling beside her, but the minute he touched her she suddenly relaxed, coming back to herself. She sat up with her husband's aid, but she was so pale, Elrond was at her side with a glass of Miruvor before anyone had even seen him get up to go fetch it.

"Jeren," Elrohir said, concern dripping from his voice, "what is it? What happened?"

She got up from the floor with Elrohir's help to steady her, and with shaking hands accepted the glass that Elrond handed to her. She took a deep swallow without even thinking about what she was drinking. She hated Miruvor with all the passion she possessed, but that didn't even occur to her at this moment.

She looked at Elrond, fear in her eyes. "It's happened again, Father—one of those visions." She took another swallow of the hated liquid, and this time grimaced at the taste, although she didn't acknowledge it.

Elrond took her by the arms and looked into her eyes, as if he searched for some answer he knew he wouldn't find. "What was it, Jeren?" he asked her seriously.

"I do not know what I saw," she said, her voice quaking. "But it was horrible and black. And its very presence shook me to the core. It was as if I were facing everything I've ever feared, all of it wrapped in one black robe."

Elrond stepped back like he'd momentarily lost his balance, but he quickly righted himself again, although the pallor of his skin told all.

"Ứlairi…" he whispered. The look on his face was of someone far away, seeing something from the past, of which he held deep and unshakable hatred—or fear.

But it wasn't the past that had rocked him—Elrond had just had a vision alike to the one Jeren had endured.

Elladan had quickly gone to his father's side, and one arm now encircled the Elf lord's shoulders. "Are you all right, Father?" he asked.

Elrond suddenly looked at his son, as if he'd just become aware of the others around him again, and then nodded his head, taking a drink from the glass he'd just seconds ago been plying on Jeren. But before he had a chance to respond, or to tell the others exactly what had taken place, Glorfindel came through the door, his face like a storm cloud.

He was dressed for riding and he carried a map rolled up in one fist. "Elrond, I need to speak with you—now," he said, looking deliberately at the others, wanting them gone from the room.

Elrond took another sip of Miruvor, calming himself even more. "It is fine, Glorfindel. Whatever you need to say should be heard by us all." The Elf lord's voice was weak at first, making it sound as if he truly wasn't in command of the situation.

Glorfindel clearly did not agree with his friend. "Elrond…" he warned.

"Do it, Glorfindel!" Elrond's tone had taken on a more decisive note, like he'd not just been staggered to the bone moments earlier. "I'll have your report now. No stalling and no hedging. Your _full_ report."

Clearly not liking it, he sighed, and spread his map out on Elrond's desk. He pointed to various spots on the chart as he said, "There have been sightings of late, riders draped in black robes."

Jeren gasped, which was so out of character for her the others quickly turned to see what had caused her to react so drastically. She was white as a sheet, but when she noted the others' perusal, color flooded her face. "Please, go on…" she said hesitantly.

"At first it was thought to be only one rider, but as the days have progressed, it is now very apparent that there are at least five of them."

"There are nine," Elrond said through clenched teeth, as if this truth angered him immensely.

"You are sure?" Glorfindel asked skeptically.

"I am sure," he replied, but he didn't elaborate. _And no one doubted him…_

Glorfindel cleared his throat before he said, "I am sending out scouts now, specifically to track them, though they have proved slippery so far. They seem to have wings at times, practically vanishing, only to turn up later in another location. That has been why our count is so spotty—along with the fact that they are very alike, although there is one who appears to be their leader."

"How many warriors of the force are you sending?" Elrond asked.

"Most of the border guard and _all_ of the scouts," Glorfindel replied, purposely eyeing both Jeren and Elrohir.

"I will be ready shortly, my lord," Jeren said, and she started toward the door, but Elrohir quickly grabbed one of her arms, stopping her.

"Do not start with me, Elrohir," she said, her eyes so serious that everyone was confident she would be leaving soon, exactly when she wanted to. "This is what I've been waiting for—only I did not know it until now. I am going with the others scouts—with or without you."

He dropped her arm, but his expression was a challenging one, as if he were daring her to step foot out of the house without his blessing. She looked at him long, but then she stood up straighter, her gaze never leaving his, until she continued out of the room.

Glorfindel looked pointedly at Elrohir again. "Can I count on you, too? Or will you cower here in the house, trying to keep your wife safe? Because I know the only way _she_ will remain is if you stay and make her do so."

Elrohir's eyes clouded over then, every bit as stormy now as Glorfindel's were. His face was set in stony anger and his voice was icy. "What I do or do not do with my wife is _my_ business. Not yours."

Elrond stepped between them then, because it looked distinctly as if the two Elves were about to go after one another.

"Elladan," Elrond said then, even as he turned Elrohir away from Glorfindel. "Are you going with them as well?"

"Yes, Father," Elladan replied, and, reading the plea on his father's face, he offered a slight bow and exited the room.

Glorfindel stood down then, and, giving the younger Elf another glare, also nodded slightly to Elrond, before he, too, left the study.

Elrond still had a hold on Elrohir's arms, when his son gently disengaged himself. "I am sorry, Father," he said, "but sometimes Glorfindel pushes me too far." He walked to the window behind his father's desk and placed his palms on the sill. Leaning over, he took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself.

"I know he does, son; and he has his reasons," Elrond replied as evenly as he could. "But that doesn't nullify your responsibility to not only respect your elders, but to respect your commander."

Elrohir turned toward his father then, but his expression did not change; there was no sign he was other than still extremely angry.

"What _are_ you going to do?" Elrond asked him then. "I hate to see you and Jeren at odds, before she rides away on what could prove to be a dangerous mission."

"You said 'Ứlairi', just before Glorfindel came into this room," Elrohir said. "We are dealing with the Nazgûl?"

"Riders in black; and Jeren said it was as if she were facing everything she'd ever feared. I would say that describes any of the Nine in very succinct terms." He looked deliberately into his son's eyes then. "And I have now seen them myself."

"Then it's as I thought—she cannot go! I will not allow it!"

Elrond approached Elrohir, stopping right in front of him. "Do not say something to her you will live to regret, son. Jeren is single-minded in this thing, and she will do as she will. Even if you try to forbid it, she will go." He turned his eyes toward the window then, the lines of his face falling into sadness again. "And you must let her…"

He glanced at the younger Elf to gauge his reaction, and it was exactly as he thought he would see—his son was even more livid than he'd been before. He took a deep breath and continued, before Elrohir had a chance to vent his spleen.

"Your mother warned me about this message she was giving to you, son." He glanced at Elrohir again, to see if he had his total attention.

Elrohir's eyes had narrowed, but his anger had not abated. "What did she say, Father?"

"She meant it literally when she said it was vital to both of you that you each be involved in this war of which she was speaking."

The remembrance of the dream was pushing Elrond back into the melancholy he'd been fighting since he'd woken in his room. But he knew he must push on—tell his son what he needed to know; what he needed to understand.

"It seems as if Jeren has taken your mother's message to heart—she has no intention of being left behind from this mission, and her foresight is telling her that this very thing is a part of the whole of what she must accomplish. If you are wise, son, you will help her all that you can. And the best way you can help her will be for you to accept that she must do this, and then allow her to do it. Help her do that which she must, because your lives depend on it."

"Did Mother tell you specifics, Father?" Elrohir asked, his anger gone now, with fear taking its place.

"No. No specifics. Nothing except that it will be Jeren's task to fulfill, but it will be to your extreme benefit if she succeeds. It will benefit us all.

"And keep in mind that your mother _is_ in Valinor, and for some unknown reason she was sent to us in a dream. She was not sent merely to ease our minds, son; she was sent for _this_ purpose. I do not know why our family was granted this favor, but your mother was very adamant about that being the case. Now we must do as we've been advised. _You and Jeren_ must do as you've been advised."

"But Father," Elrohir said, as if pleading, "we don't know what to do! We know nothing! Am I to let Jeren risk her life—continually—to follow this 'foresight' of hers that even she cannot control or understand?"

"I know it is much to ask, Elrohir," Elrond said. "But I think that you must do as you've been directed, by whomever in Valinor it was that has taken this interest. Why else would we have been granted the gift of seeing your mother, if not for some profound reason? Think of your history. Think long, Elrohir, before you do something you might regret."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Elrohir raced up the steps two at a time, hurrying to get to his chambers to speak to Jeren. Contrary to his father's advice, he had no time to think right now; he had to get to Jeren before she left with the rest of the scouts. He didn't think she would actually leave without telling him goodbye, but in her present state of mind, he couldn't predict exactly what she might do. She was bound to hurry her preparations for the scouting mission, not only because of the urgency she felt over the dream, but also because of the disagreement they'd had in his father's study. She might make haste to be out of the house, just so that she would not have to face him—and more than likely fight with him—before she left.

_But still—she wouldn't leave without any farewell… Would she?_

Confrontation wasn't Jeren's strongest suit, and if she could avoid it, he knew that she would. Of course, if he pushed it, she would meet the conflict with him head on, but that really wasn't what he wanted, either. He wanted to talk to her—settle things between them in a peaceful manner and impress upon her the danger she faced in trying to find the black riders that Glorfindel had mentioned. He knew he had little chance of talking her out of this mission, but he aimed to try. He had no intention of letting her go easily, if that was what she was determined to do, so if he could dissuade her from her current mindset, he was certainly going to give it his all.

He paused on the landing at the top of the stairs just a few feet from his door, as thoughts of what his father had told him after Jeren left the study stopped his progress. He knew his father was right—the dream had been orchestrated by someone in Valinor—someone very powerful—and it hadn't been gifted to them just so that Elrond's family could set their minds at ease as to Celebrian's health. No, his mother had been sent with a message—an urgent one; one of significance to all. Just because he didn't know its worth at present, didn't negate the fact that he knew it was crucial. But was it crucial enough to risk Jeren's life over?

When he'd first seen her in his dream, his mother had acted like her old self again. She was confident and happy. But when it was time for her to leave them, she became troubled and had insisted that she speak only to Elrohir and Jeren. She wanted to make sure that they understood the burning nature of the message she bore. There was no doubting that, as much as Elrohir wished for it not to be true. And despite the falsehood he'd told Elladan, he'd known right away that his mother's frantic plea had not been meant for his twin. No, the more he thought about everything that happened in the dream—his mother's determination—the fact that she'd been sent to them at all—the more he believed that his father was right: the message his mother had spoken of was ultimately Jeren's task to complete.

He heaved a frustrated sigh. This was tearing him apart. He knew the stories and legends of the Nazgûl. He seriously didn't want Jeren to be a warrior in the first place, and here he was expected to not only give his blessing to this obscure task of his mother's, he was supposed to ride out with Jeren in search of the Nine? He was loath to do it himself, yet he would, because it was his duty to do so. But allow his wife to go up against such evil? He thought not…

If he set aside the current problem, he still couldn't get past the one they'd had since before they'd been bonded. He'd been distracted by her in battle well before that, watching her back, making sure she was holding her own. Now he was expected to fight beside her—not do battle for her, as his nature would naturally want to bend him toward. He was supposed help her in this; watch as she put herself into dangerous situations—like the one that faced them now.

If he did this he'd be forced to stand aside and not fight for her, because that was how Jeren wanted it. She had been complaining to him for a very long time that he did not trust her skills. He wanted to, but he knew she was right—he couldn't leave her to fend for herself. He was simply unable to come to terms with it. He didn't feel as if he mistrusted her skills, but when he was faced with a battle situation, in which she too fought, he could not seem to let her be on her own, without any interference from him. So how was he to be expected to do this thing now?

He inhaled deeply, trying to slow his breathing, and as he walked toward his door, he forced himself to calm. It would do no good to go into their room shouting demands. That was the surest way to make Jeren stand firmer and send her on her way even faster than she was of a mind to go already. It didn't help that his heart was so torn—knowing he needed to listen to his mother's direction, but at the same time, also needing to hold onto his wife with both hands…

He opened the door to the sitting room, finding the inner door open as well. He walked inside their bedchamber, and Jeren was rolling up a pair of leggings to put into her pack. His Elven eyes saw the muscles in her shoulders and neck tense as she heard his approach, and he watched as her teeth clenched together, thinning her lips. He felt regret that she was preparing herself for what she thought would most assuredly be a heated argument, even though that was not in his plans at all.

"Jeren…" he said as he closed the door.

When she didn't respond, but kept on with what she was doing, he called out to her again. "Jeren—look at me…"

In a split second her gaze darted to his. "Is that an order, _my lord_?"

Elrohir closed his eyes momentarily, trying to tamp down the instant anger he felt at her stinging reply. When he had his emotions under control again, he said, "No, it isn't an order, Jeren. It is a simple request."

She stopped rolling the leggings and looked at him, and his heart melted just a little. She was so beautiful—so precious to him. He loved every inch of her. How could he allow her to put herself in danger this way? It was going against everything he believed in if he permitted her to imperil her life by going off on this mission—the first of many, he would guess...

Not really knowing what he was going to say, he drew near her, stopping just in front of her. He took the leggings out of her hands and placed them on the bed beside her pack, and then took hold of her fingers, caressing them while looking into her eyes.

"Can we at least talk about this?" he asked.

"There's really nothing to talk about Elrohir—I'm going on this scouting mission whether you go or not; whether you approve of it or not," she said, her tone straightforward. "And we've talked about this ongoing problem several times. You do not trust my ability as a warrior, even though I've trained and passed all of Glorfindel's tests. We talked about it extensively when we were scouting together—before we found the children—and the 'solution' we came up with was not working well for me. You were miserable all the time, and you'd barely allowed me to do my part. Even though you were trying very hard, it just wasn't enough."

He dropped her hands, trying not to show his frustration so much. "Then give me another chance."

"You've had chance after chance," she said, her voice still calm. "This last time, you very nearly got yourself killed. What would my life be like if you were no longer in it—all because you do not trust me?"

"I _do_ trust you," he replied, seeming offended by her comment, as if he'd not really heard the meat of it.

"Not in this," she insisted. "You know you do not. You cannot allow me to engage with Orcs if you are anywhere near. And if you fell, I would cease caring about life at all."

He stepped closer to her, finally allowing his anger free reign, and his voice was neither calm nor kind. "That is exactly the point of all this, Jeren! I feel the same way about you! And while the pain of loss would be the same for both of us, you know that should anything happen to you, it goes deeper for me. Because it is my nature—I'm Elfkind!"

"So _I_ must pay for that for the rest of my life?" Jeren asked heatedly. "Pay for it _with_ my life—forget that I am a warrior? Forsake my own heart?" Her eyes searched his, wanting to see understanding. Not finding it, she said, "You knew what I was well before you declared your love for me, Elrohir. How is any of this fair?"

"None of it is fair—not to you or to me!" he shouted. "It wasn't meant to be like this!" He walked toward the veranda, but then turned around again. In a much quieter voice, he said, "Yes, I knew what you were before I fell in love with you, but the heart does not take such things into consideration—it gives one no choice. And I hoped that with time, I'd be able to persuade you to hang up your bow, sheathe your sword. Then after your arm was crippled, I thought you wouldn't be able to fight again! I _hoped_ you'd quit being a warrior after you were injured."

"Yet you went to great lengths to help me achieve my goals, Elrohir! How does that even make any sense?"

"I don't know!" he said loudly, his face a mask of annoyance. He paced back to her, placing his hands on her arms. "I don't know," he said more calmly and at a much lower volume. "I want you to be happy—more than anything, that's what I want.

"But _this_… This message thing is tearing me apart inside. I am expected to help you achieve some intangible goal, while fighting beside you! How will I stand by while you are in battle and not keep at least one eye on you? How will I be able to stay on the task of keeping myself alive? Just tell me how…" His voice had trailed off to almost a whisper, and his hands now cupped her face. "Your safety consumes me. And now our bond seals our hearts together. As if we are one… Just tell me how to do this…"

He watched her face soften with his entreaty, and he felt a smidgen of hope, but just as quickly, her jaw hardened again with resolve. She pulled away from him, determination taking firm root in her expression once more.

"I don't know the answer to that, Elrohir," she replied. She picked up the pair of leggings and shoved them into her pack. He could see the tears starting in her eyes, and then the slight widening of her lids that showed she was trying very hard to hold them back. He desperately didn't want her to cry; she hated it and so did he. And that hadn't been his aim at all.

But he didn't let her small show of emotion deter him from his objective. "You haven't trained in months," he said, starting in on her again, in spite of feeling disloyal at causing her pain.

"It's been only _one_ month, Elrohir," she retorted, the fire returning to her spirit. "And you know yourself that while one might get rusty from not wielding weapons, the remembrance of using them is ingrained deep in your mind—your very limbs and muscles have distinct memories of all of the movements. Glorfindel's drills see to that. I am well enough prepared to go out again."

"Glorfindel…" Elrohir said with contempt. "Do not mention his name to me right now."

He let his seething anger at the Arms Master go as he realized he was getting nowhere again. He moved closer to her. He took her right hand in his, threading his fingers with hers. "This hand doesn't even work, and this arm—" His fingers had moved up to her elbow, and he tightened them around the limb, giving it a little shake. She was too late in contracting the muscles she could use in it, so it moved a little bonelessly at first.

She looked into his eyes as she pulled her arm out of his grasp. "It works well enough. And besides, I use my other hand and arm," she replied. "You know that. Your attack is losing strength, husband of mine." A mocking half-smile pulled at her lips.

"I grow desperate at this late hour," he replied honestly, answering with a slight grin of his own. But he didn't let her distract him again. "I do not want you to go, Jeren. I want you safe, here in my arms. It's the only way I can truly be happy."

Her jaw dropped as comprehension of his words dawned. "I hope you are exaggerating, Elrohir. If you are not, then we truly have very big problems. We should never have bonded, if what you are saying is indeed the truth. Again, you knew who I was—_what_ I was—before you ever declared love of me."

He walked away, seemingly dejected, but he was not yet beaten. If worse came to worst, he would simply ride out with her as he always did and try very hard not to coddle her.

"You knew who I was, Elrohir…" she repeated. "And now we have this message from your mother that I cannot release to someone else's care." She walked toward him, but stopped well out of his reach. "I know in my bones that it is something I must do—for _us_. I do not know exactly what it is as yet, but it involves a conflict of some sort, conflict that I must participate in. I_ must_ Elrohir. There is no choice, not if I want life as I've grown to know it to continue. Deep in my gut I know this—and quite frankly it hurts me deeply that you do not truly trust me to decide what is best for our future."

She turned her back on him then, returning to the bed to finish her packing. But she was not done telling him exactly what she thought, so she faced him again.

"Your mother was very persuasive; she convinced me—twice—that it was truly my task to carry out. I will see it done, and yes, I might die trying, but I will go down fighting. It is what I do. I am my father's daughter—Anardil's daughter. He taught me well, but he also gave me this heart—this stubborn heart that will not quit."

Elrohir drew closer to her again, stopping only when they were separated by a mere inch. He lifted a hand to trail his fingers down her cheek. His smile was bittersweet. "I love you, Jeren. If this is what you want—then it is what I want as well. I don't know how I will keep from fighting your battles, and chances are I will fail at it again. But since I have the burden of watching you when you are in peril, I suppose it is only fair that you experience the same kind of feelings that I will. If I go down protecting you, then so be it—because that is what _I_ do."

Jeren looked at him long, her face unreadable. He truly didn't have an inkling as to what she was thinking or feeling, and finally she drew away, fastened the ties on her pack and reached for her sword.

She buckled it on, adjusting it until it hung in exactly the right place, within easy reach of her left hand, and then she picked up her pack as well as her bow and quiver. She headed for the door.

"Jeren?" Elrohir said uncertainly. "Have you nothing else to say?"

She turned back toward him just as she reached for the knob on the door. "Yes, I have two more things to say. First, I love you, too, Elrohir—with my entire being. I always will. And second, I'm going down to the stables now to ready Two, and to find Glorfindel so that he can give me my assigned partner."

"What—?" Elrohir started, his face alight with surprise. He was almost rendered speechless from what he'd just heard her say.

"I'll not be your partner in this, Elrohir," she stated evenly. "Not in this scouting mission; at least not at first. I will go with whomever Glorfindel chooses for me—with the possible exception of Bandorian—I won't ride with him.

"But you will not be my partner. Perhaps I will be able to prove my worth as a scout without your constant smothering. Otherwise, I might as well stay here, and let whatever your mother was hinting at go on without me, because I cannot do what I must with your hovering at every turn."

Elrohir stood there listening to her speech, anger and frustration building with every word she spoke. He longed to interrupt her, tell her she was wrong to be doing this, but it had been he who'd all but demanded a response from her, so he held his tongue for now.

"I'm sorry, Elrohir," she continued, her face softening for the tiniest few seconds, before she forced her jaw into a hard edge once again. "I truly am. But I, too, am torn. I want to be your wife—the best wife I can be for you. But I will not try to change my basic nature just in order to please you. For one thing, I don't know if I'm even capable of doing such a thing, and for another, I would end up hating myself and resenting you."

She paused as if making sure he was weighing the words she was hurling at him, for it seemed as if she was finally telling him everything that was on her mind. He watched her intently, trying to read her thoughts, even though he knew that was an impossibility. He wondered how much more she would dare to say.

"I am a warrior—it's what I will probably always be. I didn't mean to keep that fact a secret from you—I always thought that you knew it. But it seems to surprise you now, so mayhap I wasn't as forthcoming as I thought I was."

She turned the doorknob, but he was beside her before she could open the door fully, slamming it shut with a palm flat on the wood.

"You're beginning to make me really angry, Jeren. Don't do it this way. We will ride together, as we have been doing. Those are my conditions; take them or leave them."

Her incredulous expression gradually transformed to one of anger. She raised her brows, as she said, "I care not about _your conditions_. I am deciding my own fate from now on—not you. Now move, before I move you myself."

He took hold of her arms, wanting to shake her until her teeth rattled, but her chin rose defiantly. He would like to see her try to move him. She wouldn't gain an inch, even if she put every ounce of her meager weight into the struggle, but what gave him pause was that she knew this fact well. Yet knowing this wouldn't keep her from trying; trying until she had no strength left.

They stood there looking at each other, anger blazing from them both, and then he remembered what his father had said when he'd been in his study:

_Think long, Elrohir, before you do something you might regret._

He'd been unable to think of anything other than Jeren going into danger since Glorfindel had entered his father's study and had told them what they'd be scouting for. It had left him shaken when his father confirmed what it was that they hunted—Nazgûl.

_Why were they here? Why had they been seen on the borders of Imladris? What did they want? But more significantly, what could a Human—a woman—do to protect herself from even one of the Nine?_

He shuddered and let out a shaky breath as he loosened his hold on Jeren's arms, which, he suddenly realized, had been tight enough to bruise. He had to cease this struggle of power between them, because in the scheme of things it was insignificant. Right now he needed to really impress upon her the danger into which she was riding. He knew he needed to do some very persuasive talking, in order to dissuade her once and for all.

"Jeren listen to me," he commanded, not caring how overbearing it made him sound. He needed to reach her, and if scaring her would do it, then he would fall that low. "You do not know what you hunt."

She drew her brows together, as if she were totally bewildered by his sudden change in subject.

As he stood there with scant seconds to think, he decided that commanding her would never reach her. He'd have to attempt something different. Scare her, yes, but in another manner entirely.

"I have tried everything I know of to keep you from going on this scouting mission, so it seems I must resort to begging you now. You cannot go in search of the Nine. They are fell and terrible beyond enduring—even for an Elf at times. For a Human—" He let his voice die away, hoping to impress her with anything he could think of.

"Who are they?" she asked, still confused.

"I cannot do justice to a detailed explanation right now, Jeren; Glorfindel waits for our answer, and the story is long. You must trust me—they are the worst foes you could ever face. Before you are even able to set eyes on them, their evil touches the air around you, seeping into your mind, then taking over your heart and soul. They can kill without even touching you."

She looked at him warily for several seconds, and he was sure he'd gotten to her with this. But just as soon as he began to breathe a wee bit easier, he saw her jaw square once again.

"This is only a scouting mission, Elrohir. I do not know what Glorfindel's instructions will be, but I would assume we will be told not brave them with an approach. My partner and I will report back when—and if—we find them. Thank you for the warning, but I must still go. Now unhand me, please."

He'd taken hold of her arms again, when he'd made this final appeal, and, as if his fingers had been glued to her skin, he slowly let go of her, feeling as if he was forsaking his very life when he did.

"Then there is nothing I can say that will keep you here? Keep you safe?" he asked a little breathlessly.

She shook her head. "There is nothing you can say or do. Come with me or stay here, Elrohir—that is a decision you must make for yourself. I think I will still have time when I return from this mission to impress upon you the importance of your mother's message. I do not think you are truly grasping it yet…"

"I do understand it, Jeren," he said, "more than you know. I just do not agree that you need to risk your life for it. My mother gave us the message—from someone in Valinor. Why? Why are you meant to do this thing? Have you asked yourself that question? I certainly have, and whatever the answer to it is, I think the price you might pay is too high. We've been given vague bits of information, such as 'our lives depend on it'. I've always lived my life in the present. I'm living my life now, not a decade from now, not a century from now, and I can tell you, I am not willing to lose you for some 'mystical' thing we might wish to have in our lives in the future. Do not do this, Jeren—not for me or for us."

Jeren's expression softened at last—and stayed that way. She let her pack and her weapons slide to the floor. "Elrohir…" She said his name as if it brought her sadness instead of joy. "I wish I could stay and do as you want me to do, but I cannot. I have something spurring me forward that will not allow me to rest. If I stay here now, I will drive the both of us insane—you will be glad to be rid of me, in any way possible. So I may as well go." One side of her mouth quirked up in a slight grin.

She reached up and touched his face. "There is nothing I would like to do more than to stay here—in this safe haven—cradled in your arms, loving you always. But you know that is no life for a warrior. A warrior fights. And now I've been called. Yes, it is an ambiguous calling, but it is a quest I must make nonetheless."

She kissed his lips as he watched her face, his mind filled with not only fear and frustration, but desire and love, although he hoped he was allowing neither of the latter to show in his expression. He would not let her feel easy about any of this. He'd not changed his mind, he'd simply acquiesced the point—for the time being.

"I will tell you goodbye now, Elrohir, just in case I do not see you down at the stables before we leave," she said. "Otherwise, my advice is to hurry and pack—time is of the essence." She smiled at him then, a sad smile, as if she, too, knew that all was definitely not settled between them. She looked at him longingly for several seconds, seeming as if she truly did want to do his bidding, she was just unable to. Picking up her gear, she went back to the door and opened it, letting herself out and closing it with a quiet click.

Elrohir paced to the veranda, and when he reached the railing, he leaned on it, his knuckles pale from gripping it so forcefully. He took several deep breaths, feeling as though he were drowning—sinking into a pool of misery he couldn't escape.

He knew the wisdom of following his mother's order. He knew it had something to do with their future, and if it had not been something of significance, then a miracle such as the dream would have never occurred in the first place. But what was the message for? Why is it so vital? He had his speculations about it, but he didn't have any proof that what he was thinking was indeed the truth. Who in their sane mind would allow his wife to risk her very life over something that wasn't even a sure thing?

He heaved one last deep sigh and stood up straight. He'd lost this battle, but he'd not forfeited the war. Not by a long shot. He would shadow her every move, whether she liked it or not—no matter what Glorfindel said or did. After all, he was expected to support his wife in this endeavor was he not? His mother told him not to sit idly by—

_And he didn't intend to…_

He made his way back into the room, going to his wardrobe to gather some of his things. He packed hurriedly, all the while thinking about his argument with Jeren. He shook his head in disgust as he thought about her perhaps confronting one of the Nine. Surely she would do exactly as she said she would, and simply report her findings—not try and bring any of those evil beasts down.

He mentally shook himself then. He knew she was always sensible, and was in fact a very capable warrior. He knew it—even though he kept denying it to her face. But knowing something and being able to have enough faith that she would triumph were two totally different things.

_If she just weren't so stubborn!_

Even as he thought this, he had to smile. If he were to choose what he most loved about his wife, he would have to say that it was her mulish determination that he cherished above all. While she was a trial at times, if not for her stubborn heart, she would have died at sixteen, and he'd never have even gotten to know her, much less love her.

He picked up his pack and took a moment to look about the room. He wanted to drink in the serenity he usually felt here in this place. Here with Jeren. Loving her; holding her in his arms. His gaze fell on her open wardrobe, and he spied her dagger sitting on the shelf right inside the door. He smiled to himself again—she'd been in such a hurry, she'd left without all of her weapons. He walked to the wardrobe and palmed the dagger, closing the door while he was at it. He shoved the knife into his pocket, and then he gathered his own weapons. Taking one final look around the room, he grasped the doorknob and let himself out.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**A/N: Well, there you have it, dear readers, the rest of the story. I hope you liked it and that it was worth the wait. I will continue this series sometime soon, I think. The story will NOT be a "9th and 10th" walker sort of story, although it will involve the quest. I would like to thank any and all who reviewed my story. It always helps immensely to know what people are thinking, and whether they like or hate the story. Thanks from the bottom of my heart to those who took the time to review.**

**A/N2: About squab… I always thought of squab as a small chicken—with mostly white meat. But when I looked it up and saw that it was basically a pigeon with dark meat, it made me think of the wild doves that hunters shoot here in Texas where I live. Oh my GOSH, it's a nasty little bird to eat (in my opinion). It has very dark meat—blood red—and is "gamey" and "wild" tasting. Not to my liking at all. So that's what Bellasiel's squab pie is made of and why no one really likes it in my story…**

**A/N2: If you'd like the websites I used to make my determinations about the ring Vilya, private message me, since f f . net won't allow you to put websites in the Author's Notes apparently. I tried to list them, but it just wouldn't save.**


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